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Triangulating peace

Bruce M. Russett, John R. Oneal

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^ OCTOBER 1907

THE NEW y-.-

H" PRICE 10 cpW^"^^^-'

/:>'

NASHVILLE

TENNESSEE

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W^. W. FORD TOBACCO ^VORKS

NASII^TJLLE, TEJ^XESSKE

The W. W. Ford Tobacco Works is thoroughly reliable in every particular, and will carry out every promise made.— Ed.

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RICHAIU) MANSFIELD

The Dead IDaster

Ui(s 01 tht dcaib of RidMrd maiifleM

By Tom Sigismtind StriUing

Ulail Ibe master. He is dead.
SiDiftly bad) Ms spirit fled;
mourn blm stately* mourn l)im greatly —
He 1$ princeliest of tl)e dead*

Let Tragic IDuse and IDirtl) Protean*
Raise a grand and mournful paean ;
Tbeir creator and translatcr*
He batb floipn for endless aeon.

And* ye realms iDbicb noip be doipers*
Ye iDbo took bim in bis pounrs*
Set stages vaster for tbe master—
He batb groipn too great for ours.

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Painting by M. L. McComb

"When Sally sat down to her sewing a little later her thoughts were very far removed from
her work, and she was more troubled than she cared to show."

The Night Riders {See page k1)

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD

MAGAZINE

r NEW YORK

PUBUCUBRARY

VOL. VI

OCTOBER, 190

8f>9n';;i

NO. 1

Aaron, LENOX and

TILOEH FOUNDATIONS.

THE PARSON PL AYS PkO^

By Berenice Fearn Young

UT Betsy," said her
mother, ''Robert Ef-
fingham is a worthy
young man and of a
most estimable family,
which hath ever num-
bered men of distinc-
tion amongst its sons,"
Betsy said nothing.
She calmly broke four
eggs for her cup cake,
separating the yellows irom the whites
with careful precision.

"They have a fair property here in
the Colonies," continued Madame
Handsford, "and in England a coun-
try house and a town house, and are
high in favor at court."

"As for land, property and the like,
we lack nothing, mother, here at home.
The care of a country house and a
town house is irksome, and the
sparking of them who are hangers-on
at court wearies me — their words are
scarce seemly to a country-bred maid
— and moreover I like not the climate
of England. Further, it ill beseemeth
my father's daughter to find comforta-
ble the affections of a nephew of Lord
Howard Effingham, whose name and
memory are bywords the length and
breadth of the Middle Plantations."
Her mother sighed. True, she had
been the wife and was now the not
unresigned widow of the "rebel and
martyr," Handsford, and she had ever
borne herself as beseemed his consort.
Yet often his stem simplicity had been

distasteful to her. She longed for
the flesh pots of Egypt and fondly re-
membered the gay doings at court
when she was for one short year the
lady-in-waiting on the wife of James
the Second, where her martial and se-
vere-eyed lover had found her and
carried her away with him to his
Majesty's dominion of Virginia, now
twenty-five long years gone.

Mistress Handsford's sigh had but
little effect on Betsy, who serenely beat
the batter for her cake and as serenely
set it to bake in the big oven and be-
took herself to the long front porch,
whence could be plainly seen the roof
of William and Mary College, presid-
ed over by Parson Camm. This gen-
tleman, aljjeitl^^^ had been denominat-
ed by her ^father once a? ao/^ab^ipina-
ble Tory," waf}Y?t -thought by her fath-
er's daughter' to pi^f'pi Jt, most com-
manding eye, anil -V mQ§{. engaging
demeanor" foe ^a'" p^r^onl %and college
president. She wa's'deelply concerned
that John Camm should have been so
bitter against her father's old friend,
Patrick Henry, and deplored the an-
gry words between them, but for all
that she admired the parson for stick-
ing to his rights as he saw them, and
she defied all the Plantations to pro-
duce another such a pair of flashing
gray eyes or such shoulders or so full
and firm a mouth, so stately a walk or
so musical a voice in reading a pas-
sage in Scripture! Here it was Bet-
sy's time to sigh, and she did so soft-

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ly, for his voice out of the pulpit she
but seldom heard. He cared little for
the blandishments of women, being a
scholar and ever with a book in his
hand. Of late she had conversed with
him at some length twice. Once be-
ing fallen somewhat behind the oth-
ers on coming from church, he had
overtaken her, and he had ridden with
her even to her gate, where he had ais-
mounted and led her horse to the
horse block and assisted her to alight,
and after had refused most graciously
her mother's invitation to dinner. The
next time, which was but a few days
later, she had chanced to be gathering
lavender blossoms for certain house-
hold purposes as he came by her gar-
den on his morning walk. She had
found his speech pleasant, and he had
adced for a sprig of lavender, saying
that its odor was extraordinarily
grateful to him, making him think of
his mother in England, who it seemed
preferred it to all other sweet-smell-
ing shrubs or garden flowers. Her-
self also, she had said, and he had
smiled upon her, a wondrous winning
smile for so grave a mouth, the
prettier, she thought, in that it
was so fleeting, like a sudden
slant of sun across a leafy place.
She sighed again, more softly
still, and stepped quickly back into
the kitchen, warned by the warm, fra-
grant smell that she had best look in
her .oveu. /'J^pbert EflRngham," she
thoughts as she opo^d iJis oven door
just*a*trackJ6st Ker c^e "fall," and
so her mdr'silng** \W)iW.be for naught,
"Robert Efrnghaih is forever laugh-
ing at iiidti^ing, Sfiil'^ ipysterer be-
side ! H^ Hith h© Vwt, «o' parts. Could
he make a speech? Never. Could
he hold out stoutly against Patrick
Henry himself in an argument ? Could
he fight a lawsuit with courage and
accept defeat with calm and dignity?
Not he. All he knows is tavern quip
and jest, and how to troll a foolish
song, and how to make a maid's cheek
blush, and what dog to take a-hunting.
His temper is too quick, his air too
haughty to them who brook it, he is
too high handed and too light headed !
The best thing about him one can say

is that Parson Camm hath a liking
for him."

With this she drew her cake from
the oven and with her face flushed by
the. heat of the fire, returned to the
porch and her reveries while shred-
ding the spikes of lavender into a
snowy cloth laid across her lap, get-
ting-them ready to be later sewed into
small bags and thereafter placed be-
tween the folds of household linen
and napery. Presently her mother
came out with her sewing, and there
they were joined later by Mistress
Culpepper, who came riding a-horse-
back to spend the morning, and who,
abrim with gossip, could scarce di-
vest herself of riding gloves and hat
ere she began a moving tale.

"What do you Siink, Mistress
Handsford, and you too, Betsy, of this
latest prank of Robert Effingham —
the roystering blade?"

"I protest I know not what it is,
but like enough 'tis harmless. Mistress
Culpepper," answered Betsy's mother,
mildly. Betsy said nothing.

"Were you not at church, then, last
Sabbath day? Strange, I did not miss
you from the congregation."

"I had a slight quinsy on Sunday,
and Betsy stayed at home to bear me
company."

"So? And you have not heard of
it?" She drew her chair nearer.
"Why, the Middle Plantation is ring-
ing with it, and good cause ! I won-
der the news hath been so long reach-
ing you. 'Tis the most amazing bad
behavior ever done by any gentleman
in Virginia ! Not that we are any of
us surprised ; for right well you know,
Elizabeth Handsford, that this young
Effingham is a sparkish, slashing
blade, and that his manners smack too
much of court and camp to please our
quiet, gentle folk. You, who served
at court yourself, and w^ere used to
free ways belike in your youth, may
overlook his eye-making, his leg-
showing, his unseemly love-making to
this maid and that, and his ruffling it
among all the damsels as if he were
our gracious Majesty himself! I, for
one, have found him intolerable, and
like his haughty ways, which make

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THE PARSON PLAYS PROXY

him the picture of his hateful uncle,
as little as I do his ill-timed jests and
bold eyes."

"Have done with rating him, Ann
Culpepper," interrupted Mistress
Handsford, somewhat sharply. "We
all know you were bred in the Colo-
nies and unused to the custom of
town-bred gentlefolk, and it may be
having seen less of the manner of gen-
tlemen than most, having married
young and your good husband averse
to any but a quiet life. Your friends,
all, are willing to overlook your lack
of knowledge of the world, knowing
how small hath been your opportuni-
ty. But come! To the point, to the
point in this matter ! How hath young
Effingham offended? What grave in-
decorum hath he committed now?
Poor lad, he is like to receive scant
consideration here in the Colonies
where most of us have forgot the fash-
ion — and some of us have never seen
it!"

Betsy smiled at her mother's little
spurt of temper and quickly curbed
the smile. She was not only a dutiful
daughter, but had an uncommon sense
of humor, although in demeanor and
look she strongly resembled her grave
and handsome father, who had suf-
fered himself to be called a rebel and
had gloried in being called a martyr.
While Betsy trod serenely and calmly
through life, its big things and its
small, she loved her spicy mother and
rather enjoyed the latter's tart tongue
and temper, though many a time she
had fronted both down with her quiet
eyes.

"You have much courage if you es-
pouse the cause of Robert Effing-
ham in this last mad caper," continued
Mistress Culpepper, meek, but nettled.
"This transcends all. You must know,
of course, as all do, that he hath be-
haved with rudeness to good old Wid-
ow Blair, whose husband was the first
president of our wx^rthy and praise-
deserving .college of William and
Mary, in which this Plantation hath
great pride. Her husband's office and
him should be respecket in her as any
will grant. Young Effingham hath
sent her many messages this past week

in regard to the pew in church where-
in she hath sate these thirty years.
It hath pleased our young sir to sit
in that pew, and he hath tried it on
various occasions, for he hath declared
it openly at the tavern, where you can-
not deny he often drinks too much,
that in that particular pew he can best
see both Betsy here and Parson Camm
also, for whoin he professes a most
uncommon attachment. For my part,
I take it ill that a sober man holding
in godliness the office and position
which Parson Camm doth should be
agreeable, to a friendship which does
him so little credit."

Betsy's color, which had heightened
somewhat at the allusion to herself
in Widow Culpepper's story, deepened
further, and her eyes flashed at this
criticism of John Camm, but the head
of her father's child restrained the
tongue of her mother's daughter, and
she said or showed nothing unbecom-
ing a maid in the presence of her el-
ders.

"But to get at the matter and have
done with it, for I take much longer
in the telling than it took in the hap-
pening, since it was over and done
between a look and a breath, to the
consternation of us all assembled for
worship ! 'Twas like this. Last Sun-
day all in good time in came poor
Widow Blair into the church, walking
in her usijal mournful manner. As
you know, she is a small female and
mightily sad. Each Sabbath day she
sits dolefully and fixes her counte-
nance as though she were carved in
stone and weeping in an urn upon
a tomb. She is a widow indeed. It
hath developed that she came rather
before her regular time to service, for
I am told by one who knows that she
had got word from Robe;* Fffingham
not to sit in that pew as he had a mind
to occupy it alone, declaring her snif-
fling and .moaning discomposed him
so as to prevent him praying — the
godless youth! Mistress Blair is a
very determined female, for all her
smallness. Being of the weaker sex,
she yet hath the male will, and tfiey do
say that in the lifetime of her departed
spouse she — ^but at any rate she was

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

indisposed to give up her pew to Rob-
ert Effingham or any other, and had
sent him word flatly that she would
not yield to him. She came in a new
fringed black paduasoy but late pur-
chased from London, knelt, seate<l
herself and, as is her custom, unfolded
her handkerchief, holding it ready.
She weeps without fail at the appear-
ance of Parson Camm, in whom she
sees a most touching likeness to Doc-
tor Blair. Of a truth, I see not the
resembling, for Doctor Blair was
small of stature, and hath, or had in
life, a most disconcerting wart on his
nose and a most discomfortable man-
ner of swallowing between each word
with a face which ever put me in mind
of a small boy taking a pill and liking
it not. And we all know that Parson
Camm hath a majestic demeanor be-
fitting him and comfortinfy to sit un-
der. Widows do have strange vaga-
ries about their departed lords. Now,
strange as it may seem, I — but that
also is a digression. As I say, the
time drew near for Parson Camm to
make his appearance, and we sat ex-
pectant in godliness and quiet, when
in ruffled this Effingham sprig with
hair much curled, in a new plum-col-
ored suit, with pink facings of silk,
and a vastly cock-of-the-walk manner.
He walked down the aisle as if he
trod a minuet, and on reaching the
pew where sat Mistress Blair* (her
back being turned somewhat to him),
he halted, elevated his eyebrows and
then his eyes took on a most unbecom-
ing merriment (I sit, as you kno\v\
just opposite Widow Blair), and be-
fore one could say 'lx>rd ha' mercy!'
he stepped into the widow's pew,
leaned over, caught her in his anus,
lifted her high in air and sat ber
plump down in the pew behind — and
this in the presence of both minister
and congregation! This I think go-
ing too far! This I call too profane
and scandalous an action. Poor Mis-
tress Blair, what she thought I can-
not vouch, but her look was amazing.
We all, you may well believe it, sat
up and for a space looked at each oth-
er and then at the parson. The in-
stant was fraught with pain to all but

young Effingham, whose countenance
put me in mind of the line in the hymn
which saith, 'Every prospect pleases.'
Parson Camm bore himself admirably,
all must unite in declaring, and said
very solemn : 'Let us pray.' Whereat,
who should bow the head devoutlier
than any but that profane young man !
At the end of the prayer his amen
and the sniffle of Widow Blair sound-
ed at one and the same moment. Of
a truth it passes belief. I do not wx)n-
der that you look agape as I tell it.
It doth transcend all that ever I have
heard for sacrilege and blasphemy!"

Madame Handsford was fain to
confess that there could be no defense
for such an act on the part of her fa-
vorite, and to agree that his conduct
should not be overlooked or condoned.

After some further gossip the Wid-
ow Culpepper departed, and Betsy,
her domestic duties accomplished,
seated herself in the summer house
to read for an hour before dinner in
a small volume of Ben Jonson, w"hich
she had found among her father's
books.

On this same morning closeted with
Parson Camm sat "the slashing blade"
and oflfender, the ruffling upsetter of
service and uplifter of widows. They
had talked over the scandalous beha-
vior of Effingham. The young fellow
had listened with becoming humility
and every appearance of regret and
remorse to the severe rebuke of the
parson. Yet his eyes were suspicious-
ly merry as he put out his hand to
John Camm after an hour of lecture
and reproof.

"l^pon my life, John. I did
not know that I was going to
do it until it was done. The woman
hath a parlous sniffle, and is as much
given to balking as her roan mule.
She thought by reason of her sex to
out-general me. I had given her fair
warning that I needed just that pew,
could praise my Maker and my Mak-
er's handiwork in no other position.
For there best can I see you, John,
and there best can I glorify God by
looking on the face of the fairest maid

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THE PARSON PLAYS PROXY

in the three Plantations. Forgive me
and forget it. I have come to you on
weightier matter than lifting a pUny,
obstinate female from one seat to an-
other. Doubtless it fluttered the lady.
It hath been long since she felt a man's
arm clasp her. Let it go, John; for-
g:et it. Thou hast ever befriended me
since I was a small lad at school back
across the water." And he would lis-
ten no longer to John's displeasure
and rebuke. He swept it aside, say-
ing:

"Be done, John; be done, be
done! Tis past. Such a caper shall
not hap again. I am concluded to set-
tle down, build a house after the fash-
ion of the Manor House back home,
forswear the tavern and live honest.
I am in love, John Camm. I am in
love, man — think of thjit!" Here the
young scamp had the grace to bow his
head and add: "She is too good for
me, but if a man got his deserts we
would none of us wive! Unless," he
continued, as an afterthought, "it
were you. And, man or parson, there
be too few of your pattern to wed all
the women. I am in love, in love,
John. Like enough you know her.
She sits under yon in church each Sab-
bath. You were a man of ice not to
know her, and she a maid to make ice
stream like a river! Will she have
me, think you? Speak up, John."

"Your behavior," said Parson
Camm, "hath scarce been such as to
commend you to modest women. P>ut
women are creatures of the whilk but
little can be prognosticated, and al-
though I have but scant time to think
on them, and have given no thought
to their habit in love-making and mat-
ing, yet I am prone to consider that
they mate as they talk, with small in-
sight and no reason."

All at once the mien, eyes and
conversation cff Betsy Handsford
were as if present. He some-
what hastily rose from his seat at
the table and walked to the window
and back. He seemed to see her in
the garden gathering lavender, and
had an unexplainable remembrance of
the sweetness of her grave eyes and
gentle voice. Also, he had a discon-

certing recollection of a lock of bright
brown hair blown by the wind across
her face. He recalled to mind every
word that she had uttered, shy, yet
with a perfect calm. She had spoken
of a certain matter in connection with
William and Mary College, and he
remembered that she had taken the
same view of it as he had when think-
ing it over in his study. Then she had
spoken of certain church matters also
in Capable and quiet fashion. Further
than this, she had talked a word of
her garden and her pleasure in it, and
of the lavender whose odor was grate-
ful to him. After a little speech of
John Milton, between the leaves of
whose "Paradise Lost" his finger was
as he walked (John Milton, a very prig
and a dunderhead in things political
and temporal, yet for all that a godly
man and no mean poet), they had part-
ed. Strange he remembered every word
she had spoken, most unusual! And
that only the second time he had seen
her to have speech of any length with
her in her presence alone. Of the
first time he recollected the very spot
on the road where his horse had over-
taken hers, the glow in her cheeks,
her well-poised seat in the saddle, her
— . He rose again, seated himself
anew, and said quidcly :

"And who is this incomparable she,
Robert? Who is this damsel that
hath set thee wool-gathering on the
subject of houses built and midnight
carousing forsaken, and court and
camp distasteful?"

"Who but Betsy Handsford, John?
And well I know that I have little to
commend me to her liking, and that
little I have placed in jeopardy. Much
I fear me she will not listen to my
further wooing, taking me so smally
in earnest, in that she knows that I
have kissed this hand and that, and
lips where I could, but I vow I will
rove no more. I am mad for Betsy
Handsford, and I must have her.
What I would ask of thee is this —
do you seek her for me. Speak to her
grave and convincing as thou well
knowest how. Get her ear — thou
canst. Make her sure of my unchang-
ing devotion. Open up to her the

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

thought that her affections will be my
safeguard, and her union with me
my salvation; her love for me will
make a man of me."

"Robert, Robert, lad, it is not the
love of woman which will make of
thee a man; it is only within thyself
that such power can arise. But of a
truth thou speakest as a man in ear-
nest, and canst do thy own wooing.
Such words as have this moment fell
from thee betokened eloquent enough
matter for convincement of any wom-
an ; of most, at least." He added the
last part of his statement in spite of
himself, and then he argued further
on the matter, and wx)uld have done
so at great length. But no, young Ef-
fingham would not hear to anything
but that John should go to the lady
and plead the younger man's cause.
Finally the parson consented, but he
had unaccountable little heart in the
matter. It was no unusual custom in
those times for a friend to be the go-
between in affairs of marriage, and al-
liances were arranged no less among
the gentry than. with crowned heads,
the high contracting parties seemingly
quite satisfied with this disposal of
their fortunes by an intermediary —
a sort of God-of-the-machine, cut and
dried affair that more than one woman
has in her heart rebelled at and some
with their tongue, and that however
complaisant the man in the case has
shown himself, we may be sure had
his "fling" for such complaisance
either before or after marriage and
many a time both.

Long that night did Parson Camm
sit up over college matters, and an un-
quiet and restless mind did he bring
to his duties. Late in the watches of
the night his candles burned. He fin-
gered over and over written instruc-
tions to be handed the housekeeper of
"William and Mary" regarding a
young Indian brave, son of the
"Queen of Pamunkey," who had been
sent to college with a boy to wait upon
him, and likewise two chiefs' sons,
"handsomely cloathed after the Indian
fashion." These instructions having
been written out in his bold, flowing
hand, he pushed the paper aside. Pres-

ently he took a fresh pen and fresh
paper and commenced to set down
certain scriptural quotations anent
matrimony, which he intended to use
in speech with Betsy Handsford on
the following day, if granted an in-
terview" in his friend's behalf. It was
not the custom in those times for pro-
fessors in colleges to marry, though
not then forbid, as it was for a
period in the life of William and
Mary College; and John Camm had
never thought of it before ; why should
he now? Impatiently he thrust aside
his scriptural gleanings, took another
piece of paper and set himself sternly
to writing other needful instructions
to the housekeeper, nimibering each
one.

1. Concern not yourself with any of the
Boys only when you have a Complaint
against any of Them, and then sec that
you make it to his or their proper Master.

2. That there be always both fresh and
salt Meat for Dinner: and twice in the
Week, as well as Sunday in particular,
that tiiere be either Puddings or Pies be-
side;

3. That the Sodety not only allow you,
but desire you to get a Cook, and further-
more that the Boys' Suppers be not as
usual made up of different Scraps, but
that there be set at eurh Table the same
Sort; that cold fresh Meat be often hashed
for them;

4. That you yourself see their Victuals
before it be carried to them when they arc
sick.

5. That they be given Medicine regu-
larly.

6. That a proper Stocking Mender be
procured to live in or near the College, as
both Masters and Boys do bitterly com-
plain of losing their Stockings.

7. Furthermore we particularly request
it of you to visit less in the Town and
Country that your Affairs at the College
may not suffer. Stay at Home diligently
that Complaints against you may be les-
sened.

These instructions being completed,
he wrote out orders to be posted for
the benefit of the young men of Wil-
liam and Mary College, thus:

I. yt no scholar belonging to any school
in ye College, of wt Age, Rank or Quality,
soever, do keep any race Horse at ye Col-
lege, in ye Town, or anywhere in ye Neigh-
borhood of ye same & yt they be not con-
cerned anyway in making races, or in
backing or abetting, those made by others

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& yt all race Horses kept in ye Neigh-
borhood of ye College & belonging to any
of ye Scholars be immediately dispatched
& sent off, & never again brought back un-
der Pain of ye severest Punishement:

2. yt no Student shall take part in Cock-
Fighting, nor frequent ye Ordinaries, nor
bette, nor play at Dice, nor Billiards, nor
bring Cards or Dice to ye College :

3. yt severe Penaltie and Pain of Pun-
ishement will be put upon any Student
who may presume to go out of ye Bounds
of ye College, particularly towards ye Mill
Pond, without express Permission, & ye
Mill Pond be at ale time sedulously
shunned :

4. to ye Ende yt no Person may pre-
tend Ignorance of ye foregoing Regula-
tions it is ordered yt a clear and Legible
Copy of ym be posted up in everie School
of ye College.'

All these instructions being writ
and neatly placed in a pile for distri-
bution on the morrow, John arose and
walked slowly to the casement, flung
it wide, and looked out across the
fields and wondered if she were asleep,
blushed at the thought, put it away
from him, and went strangely moved
to bed where he dreamed she came to
meet him across the moonlighted fields
with an apron full of lavender b*o-!-
soms.

As early as was seemly on the fol-
lowing morning he mounted his horse
to ride over to the house of Madame
Handsford. He dressed himself very
carefully, fine ruffled shirt of cambric,
and his best in the way of buckles at
knee and shoe. For surely it befitted
a man bent on such an errand to be
fittingly garbed.

His dream of last night had fled
from him. He was thinking only
of Robert Effingham, thinking rather
gravely how lightly the lad was about
to take a serious step, thinking that
for the scapegrace to have chosen
wisely was something much in his fa-
vor, thinking with a sigh of which
he wot not that it was but natural for
the heart to go out to such a damsel,
seeing we needs must love the. highest
when we see it, wondering if the maid
in question cherished a feeling of af-
fection for this scatter-brained, lova-
ble, untamed lad, whose suit he was to
urge, fitting -together the proper
phrases in which to address her, and

in which to clothe the virtues of the
young man who desired her affections
(for he had virtues, as little as his
demeanor showed them to advantage),
wondering remotely about the cove-
nant of marriage as it was entered
into by men, other men. He lifted his
shovel hat from his head as he rode
down the leafy country highway, and
bared a thoughtful high forehead, a
fine, clean-cut face, to the stunrtier
wind — a face well deserving the light
touch of a woman's hand laid in ten-
derness upon it.

She was in the garden again, and
looking up showed frankly her pleas-
ure in the sight of him. On his alight-
ing and entering the gate she passed
promptly out through the opening in
the privet hedge to meet him. Where
her kerchief met across her bosom
were two or three spikes of lavender.

"Good morrow to you, Parson
Camm," she said. "The air is so fine
I wonder not you were fain to ride
forth in it. I will fetch my mother,
if it please you to sit on the porch
or in the summer house rather than
within doors."

"Stay, Mistress Betsy, I pray you
— and may I ask a little conversation
with you rather than with Madame
Handsford in the beginning? —
though later I shall hope to speak
with her also if she be at leisure ^nd
inclined to a visitor. May I further,
since I desire to have speech for your
private ear, direct our steps rather
to the summer house than the porch,
which I deem not quite so remote
from chance of interruption?"

"Of a surety, sir," said Betsy,
calmy, but she was not calm. She
led the way to the summer house at
the edge of the yard, where the yard
touched upon the garden. There was
a star jessamine climbing and shed-
ding its tiny blossoms through the
lattice work of the roof upon the
floor. She stood, respectful of his
cloth and position, and pointed to a
low bench, saying, "Be seated, sir."
Then she sat down beside him. The
little star-shaped blooms smelled
amazing sweet, he thought, and also
that very likely he in time should

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGa2INE

come to like their strange and un-
familiar fragrance as well as the life-
long known perfume of the lavender.
Straightway he plunged into what he
had to say.

"Matrimony is an estate approved
by heaven." She shot him a quick
and startled glance, and then quietly
took up from a woric basket, on a low
table near her, a roll of cambric ruf-
fling, and said as she found the needle,
'Truly, Parson Camm, it hath been
approved by women and men as well
as heaven, I believe, since Master
Adam and Mistress Eve." Then she
smiled, but he did not look at her
and therefore missed somewhat.

"I have come to lay before your
consideration the virtues and good
parts of young Robert Effingham."

"I have myself pondered upon them,
sir. Nor have I found them confus-
ing in number."

"He hath sterling qualities, and a
ready heart and arm to — "

"He hath, I grant it, a ready arm —
and used it most readily on last Sab-
bath Day, I have been told. Also he
hath a roving eye."

"Think not upon last Sabbath, child.
It was an action unworthy of him,
and of the whilk he sorely repents.
It was done unthoufyhtedly, but with-
out malice to Widow Blair, or inten-
tion of offense to me, or sacrilege of
God's house. I do not condone it —
but — ." Was he about to say "I un-
derstand it?" Amazed and shocked
at himself, he proceeded quickly, "The
youth is enamored of you."

"Hath he sent you to apprise me?
Is his tongue not so ready as his
arm?"

"It is, indeed! He is not averse to
wooing, but he deemed that mayhap
you would listen sooner to his suit if
put gravely by a serious man before
you, thinking my words perchance
might have weight with you rather
than his."

"He thought not amiss there," she
said, quickly, and then bit her thread
off neatly and carefully selected a
fresh needleful. Encouraged by this,
he proceeded:

"It is written that it is not good

for man to live alone, and that a vir-
tuous woman is a crown to her hus-
band and more to be desired than
much fine gold. And — er — ^also it is
recorded that Abraham dwelt many
years happily with Sarah, tljat Isaac
greatly loved Rebekah, and that Ruth
forsodk all and cleaved unto her hus-
band."

He looked up and found her eyes
fastened upon his face. A star jessa-
mine fell upon his hand.

"Yea, sir; the love of them of
whom you have spoke is pleasant to
consider. Ruth hath ever been to me
a moving ensample of constancy and
devotion.. I oft have thought upon
her," said the maiden beside him.

"The union between man and
woman is God*s ordainment," he con-
tinued. "The enduring love of a
steadfast man is the crown of a
woman, the tender passion of a con-
stant woman is the shield and buckler
of a man."

"Yea," she said, calmly, and waited.

"Robert can offer you much that is
now praise- and love-worthy, and your
life linked with his, he thinks, will
make a man of him."

"Shall I then marry a creature to
make of him a man ?"

"You wrong Robert Effingham, you
greatly wrong him — and look you, a
strong man, a steadfast, a true, a ten-
der to her he loves, albeit stern to the
world and his duty — such a man is an
honor to the woman that he makes
his wife and to the God who made
him."

"I love such a man," quickly she
answered. In his astonishment he
opened out the palm of his hand, and
a star jessamine fell in it. His hand
closed on it. Swiftly she rose to her
feet and said again, "I love such a
man. For Robert Effingham there is
no way open, nor to any save the
one."

He rose also to his feet. He knew
not that he spoke the question,
"Who?" The word sprang from his
lips with his breath.

Then she said, this daughter of a
soldier, this maiden unafraid to face
herself, this woman made altogether

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desirable by the humor that flashed
in her eyes:

"Open your Bible, not at the story
of Isaac and Rebekah, nor yet at the
story of Ruth, but to Samuel in the
second book, the twelfth chapter and
the seventh verse, and belike you may
divine who it is, oh, John Camm !"

Then she left him.

He forgot his horse, and strode
home with the star jessamine fast in
his closed hand. On his study table
lay his great Bible open. With eager
fingers he turned to the Book of
Samuel, the jessamine loosed fell to
the floor. He found and he read :

"And Nathan said unto David,
*Thou art the man.' "

He stooped, picked up the flower,
kissed it, marked the place with it —
and went back for his horse.

♦ ♦♦♦♦♦

Some months later John Camm en-
tered his study and found his wife
there dusting his books with circum-
spection and discretion, for it was a
task of hers over which her Parson
grew mightily restless. She lifted up
his "Paradise Lost" the better to wipe

it free of dust, when from it fluttered
a loose sheet filled with handwriting.
Now her John had a pretty taste in
languages and knew somewhat of the
Spanish and French tongues as well
as Latin. As she was about to slip
the leaf back into the Milton she read
beneath the verse in French (for verse
it was) a translation, done all in
John's own hand, and headed thus:

TO BETSY, MY WIFE.

Looking up she saw him in the
doorway. "Out upon you for a light-
minded poet!" she laughed at him,
but her eyes said "My Lover!" He
entered, flung an arm about her
shoulder and together they read, he
the French and she the English.
El fait que dame, et si fait bien,
Car SOS del, n'a si france rien,
Com est dame qui violt amer,
Quant Deus la violt a co torner;
Deus totes dames beneie.
She like a woman does,
And in so doing does well too;
For under heaven none so brave to do
As woman whom her own heart drives to

woo,
When God hath willed she for herself
must sue ;
God bless the ladies all !

THE DAY OF ALL THE DAYS

Along the hills the veils of cloudage lie.

And cast their shadows on the crags and rocks;

Adown the valley, shrill, a v^rild hawk's cry.
And tinkle, tinkle of the browsing flocks.

The stately corn bows in the fragrant breeze.

And faery ripples run along the wheat;
The yearning Dryads murmur from the trees.

And wilding perfumes steal from each retreat.

Beneath the hills the little streamlet flows.

Now deep and still, with pines upon its breast ;

Now fierce and strong, through mighty rocks it goes
To seek the sunset rivers of the West.

Oh, Springtime makes the heart's blood wilder flow ;

Oh, Summer tints with rose the somber days;
While Winter comes with cheer and ruddy glow;

But A\ituTnn'9 day — oh^ day of all the days!

Edwin Wiley,

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HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE

SOUTH

CHAPTER XXV-CHATTANOOGA

By John Trotwood Moore

The lost opportunity at Chicka-
mauga might yet have been retrieved
at Chattanooga had not the Fate of the
Southern Confederacy arrived on the
scene in the person of U. S. Grant.

Bragg, after
Chickamauga, shut
the Yankee army
up in their trap
a t Chattanooga
(or rather stop-
ped up the holes
in which they had
shut themselves)
and with that su-
perb belief that
the Almighty was,
of course, always
for the Cause, and
with that complete
indifference to that
element in war-
fare so essential
to success, known
by the common
name of Time,
the Southern Gen-
eral sat around
the hole as self-
satisfied and as si-
lent as a cat in a
bam loft, for full
two good, pre-
cious months, un-
til one day, to his
eternal astonish-
ment, there emerged from that hole,
not the old, g^ay, doubting and errat-
ic rat named Rosecrans, who had scut-
tled in two months before so badly
whipped that he scarcely knew which

GENERAL JOE WHEELER

hole-in-the-ground was his, but a
bobbed-off, scrap-htmgry bull-terrier,
who, from downright failure as a house
pet, had suddenly found that fighting
was his forte, and had gradually and
gloriously emerg-
ed from the mon-
grel lot of incom-
petents above him,
to be the first real
good thing Old
Abe had discov-
ered.

And as I said,
the Fate of the
Confederacy.

Two g^eat bat-
tles are never
fought on the
same field at the
same time by the
same armies. The
reason is obvious.
And so Chatta-
nooga was to
Chickamauga
what Nashville
was to Franklin —
a half fight by a
half - destroyed
army, up against
another one that
had been recouped,
regeneraled, re-
fed, and was ever-
lastingly ready.
When I visited the battlefield more
than a third of a century after the
fight, it was evidently a different Chat-
tanooga from the straggling village
under the mountain which Grant first

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HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE SOUTH

saw in October, 1863, when the Wash-
ington authorities ordered him to hur-
ry there, take charge of things and
save the army from its own generals.

In all the South there is no more
picturesque city and, I am told, few
more prosperous or with a greater fu-
ture. Its highways are beautiful and
whether one winds up to the summit
of Lookout Mountain, or down in the
valleys around, or over the health-
laden hills of Missionary Ridge, the
beautiful and the picturesque are ever
uppermost. There are no highways of
the South more interesting in natural
grandeur, as well as the historic.

There was one broad stratum in the
mind of Abraham Lincoln which won
for his cause ultimate success — ^he
gauged his generals by their success. If
they failed he asked them to step down
and out. McOellan, Bumside, Hook-
err- the list runs on even to Rosecrans.
And after Chickamauga, Rosecrans
went.

•Not so with Jefferson Davis. A
stubborn and iron friend, a brave sol-
dier, a patriot and a pure man, yet he
lacked the breadth for the gjeat and
trying office he held. It was not his
fault — God made the angle between
the two orbs of his brain the angle of
the acute. Old soldiers tell me that
Bragg was one of his favorites. That
is human — we all have our favorites —
our friends. Where he missed it was
in fighting battles on friendship. Aft-
er Chickamauga, Bragg, like Rose-
crans, should have gone the way of the
incompetent. Instead, we find For-
rest, the greatest cavalry genius of
the Confederacy, transferred to other
fields, and Bragg retained to finish the
catastrophe already begun when he
failed to follow up the victory of Sep-
tember 20th. "General Grant is drink-
ing too much whisky," said one of
Abe's advisers to the President. "I
wish you'd find out the brand he is
drinking," was the twinkling reply, "I
want to send a barrel of it to some of
my other generals."

So Grant and his extra barrels went
on to Chattanooga, and this tale is
soon told.

Never was the Union army in more
desperate straits for a full month aft-
er September 20th and before Grant
arrived to take charge. At any time
within thirty days, a real general could
have taken the city and captured the
half-starved army cooped up there.
Bragg's idea was to starve them out.
He evidently did not know how long
fighting men can live without sufficient
food. He had Rosecrans' army prac-
tically at his mercy, and Grant says
when he arrived they did not have am-
munition enough for a day's fight, and
in his report to Mr. Davis, Bragg says
of the enemy :

"Possessed of the shortest route to
his depot and the one by which rein-
forcements must reach him we held
him at our mercy and his destruction
was only a question of time."

And like many another spendthrift,
he squandered this available asset and
awoke too late to find it transferred to
the coffers of his enemy.

He had Rosecrans penned up, par-
alyzed and helpless, but Grant was of
another stamp. The latter tells how
when he arrived at Bridgeport, Rose-
crans came to his car and told him all
about how it could be done— "made
some excellent suggestions," said
Grant; and then the future president
naively remarks: "My only wonder
was that he had not carried them out."

But Grant began to carry them out,
and it is the most interesting reading
in the story of scientific warfare, his
unraveling the balled-up yarn left him
by the man who could see things but
could not carry them out. He ordered
Hooker to cross the Tennessee at
Bridgeport and march to Brown's
Ferry. He ordered Palmer with an
army corps to follow and back him up ;
he laid pontoon bridges to connect his
army ; he opened the river from Look-
out Mountain to Bridgeport. This
tapped his line to Nashville and then
there was poured in to him in unstint-
ed quantities the provisions which
Bragg thought never could be gotten
and on the lack of which the Confed-
erate leader was relying for victory.

Bragg made the mistake of think-

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ing that battles could be won by sub-
traction instead of addition ; by elimi-
nation instead of substitution; by
bread instead of bullets. Like the
Irishman who was gradually teaching
his horse to live on nothing, by the
time the lesson was learned the horse
was dead.

There was a month to this story —
from October 22d, when Grant ar-
rived, to November 23, 24, 25, when,
taking the offensive, he swept out
from his fortifications and the blood
and courage and devotion of Chicka-
mauga went to naught.

It is interesting to stand, as I stood,
on Loojcout Mountain many years aft-
erward and see how it was done. Even
where I stood occurred the so-called
"Battle above the Clouds," and as far
as the eye could see it rested on spots
made heroic by the courage of the
blue and the gray.

Looking at the fruitlessness of it all,
it seems that even the bitterest enemy
would admire and pity the Confed-
erate soldier. He had not a dog's
chance — ^that went with Donelson, Shi-
loh and Vicksburg. The country he
fought for could not feed him, arm
him, nor clothe him, and yet a richer,
fairer or fuller country never lay back
of a fighting man. The South was de-
feated, not from lack of men, but from
lack of food and equipment. What a
strange and incongruous situation!
When the war ended the South was
full of men, and cotton bales and bacon
and com in unlimited quantities were
in out-of-the-way places. It is gener-
ally estimated that first and last six
to eight hundred thousand Southern-
ers went to the war, but the census of
1870, five years afterwards, shows
there was a white population in the
South of 8,854,816, fully 1,000,000
of which were men, and yet the
South was defeated for lack of men,
they say. They were driven out of
ranks by lack of food and clothes and
back to their homes with heart-sick-
ness, and those who would have gone
to the front were estopped by the
bloody and barren victories extending
from Donelson to Franklin,

According to General Grant, Bragg
made three great blunders: "The
victory of Chattanooga," says the Fed-
eral commander in his "Memoirs," was
won against great odds, considering the
advantage the enemy had in position ;
and was accomplished more easily than
was expected by reason of Bragg mak-
ing several grave mistakes: first, in
sending away his ablest corps com-
mander with 20,000 troops; second,
in sending away a division of troops
on the eve of battle; third, in press-
ing so much of a force on the plain
in front of his impregnable position."

These, indeed, were g^ave errors,
contrary to the rules of good general-
ship. Bragg sent Longstreet to Knox-
ville to attack and destroy Burnside.
In this he had some excuse, for he be-
lieved he had the Yankees cornered in
Chattanooga, and that Longstreet
would destroy Burnside and get back
in time to help him bag the principal
game. The unknown quantity on
which he failed to count was the fact
that Grant and not Rosecrans was now
in command at Chattanooga.

Rosecrans would have dallied and
waited, but when Grant knew of Bum-
side's peril and the withdrawal of the
best corps of Bragg's army, he, with
true military genius, assumed the of-
fensive, attacked Bragg when his army
was thus weakened, and in a three
days' fight, which was both pictur-
esque and bloody, he drove him from
position after position, in spite of the
heroic bravery of his troops, who did
all that men could do, but were pow-
erless in the hands of that fate of in-
competency which had been their lot
from Donelson to Chickamauea.

The dice of fate can nowhere show
so great a chance as was the South's,
followed by so signal a failure. Nor
can the records of war show a more
heroic battle against hunger, fate and
foe than those who fought it wearing
the gray. Going into the war to fight
for the principles of Anglo-Saxon self-
government — the right of the people
to govern themselves and conduct their
own affairs — the most sacred and in-
alienable right of mankind — they found

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HISTORIC ttlGHWAVS OF tH£ SOUTH

the moral conscience, the great decid-
ing factor of the world against them,
tied, as they were, to the dead body of
the cursed slavery — a sin, not of their
fathers, but of the centuries. Pos-
sessed of a country so fertile that it
could have fed an army of a million
men for unlimited years, they were
starved and made naked and brought
down to the stretches of death, with
scarcely a decent gun to repel the in-

vain and their hungry shuttles rotted
in rust. In every great decisive bat-
tle of the West, whenever called on to
do or die — Donelson, Shiloh, Stone
River, Chickamauga, Perryville, At-
lanta, Franklin — they would arise in
their rags and wrath and with faith
sublime and courage unequaled drive
back their foe, only to fall victims at
the next turn to the ignorance, conceit
and incompetency of the men an un-

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN FROM THE BANKS OF THE TENNESSEE RIVER

vader. And with the most peerless
staple in the world in their possession
— a staple on which 'Jie very naked-
ness of mankind relied for covering
and whose yearly value to this one
favored strip of the belted zone, bound-
ed between a wheat-field and a cotton-
blossom, brought in more good
gold than all the gold mines of the
country — ^by short-sightedness and fol-
ly they beheld it shut up in their ports
and rotting in their fields while the
looms of the world cried for it in

swerving fate had placed over them
for taskmasters.

Sent to the fields in butternuts,
jeans and rags, behind them millions
of slaves, enough to have fed the
armies of the world, faithful and true
to their masters and working in field
and loom to feed and clothe them in
vain ; conscripted "as long as the war
shall last," drained to the last man,
winnowed from the cradle to the grave,
they fought as long as the flag floated,
a total number of 600,000 against 2,-

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THE TAYLOR-TkOTWOOD MaGa^INE

800,000, going up against, not alone
their known foe which they started out
to fight, but the well-fed, instinct-bred
fighting man of Europe, landed by the
thousands to better their conditions in
a country of war and rapine, and sent
to the front to fight as soon as they
landed. Starved, killed and forced to
surrender, the remnant went back to
their desolated homes, surrendering in
the ple4ge of good faith, only to find
that pledge broken by the powers
which, bereft of its great head and
heart, the immortal Lincoln, began a
reconstruction of hate. In this, their
most cherished principle was that a
black skin was better than a Southern
white one and the most beautiful
picture hung on the wall of their fame
was that of the black heel on the white
neck. And this from descendants of
the Dutch traders who sold these
slaves to the South, and the children
of the Puritan who sold captured In-
dians into slavery, "because it be
gaynef ull pillage for us !"

A few years ago the British fought
and overpowered by numbers a brave
race of white people who had made a
civilization in one of the darkest spots
of Africa ; but to-day one of the brav-
est of the Boer generals fills one of
the most important offices in the Eng-
lish Government and the sons of the
Boers govern untrammeled in the land
of their birth.

In this enlightened land, the home
of the free — under the spell of recon-
struction every Boer would have been
disfranchised and naked Kaffir heels
been placed on his neck.

And still we wonder why England
is great. Ask Canada, Australia.
Ask the white folks of her colonies
which circle the globe. Their prog-
ress is the story of a self-governing
people.

And in spite of all that, what mar-
velous things have these unconquered
people of the South done! For into
their land has come no immigrant, no
outside help, and the blood that has
builded up the new South to her pres-
ent great heights is the same that
fought the battles of the Revolution,

gave to the Union every foot of land
acquired up to Alaska, the same that
fought at Chickamauga — ^the home-
loving, independent, conservative-bom,
moral-loving blood of the Anglo-Gelt
— the people of Runnymcde and Meck-
lenburg.

And as I stood on the top of Look-
out Mountain and beheld the field where
was fought the Battle above the Oouds,
I looked down on the beautiful city
at my feet, a living, furnace-framed,
smoke-breathed, factory-pulsing, com-
merce-thumping body of the new
South, a swarthy representative 6f
what the unconquering soul of the
Southerner had done. Here, where
contending armies had striven for their
rights not half a century before — ^what
a change has come over the dream of
their desire — ^a change, I am bound to
admit, made possible by defeat. Fac-
ing starvation then, to-day the South
has more than doubled that staple un-
til Europe alone pours, daily, at her
feet, the amazing tribute of over one
million gold dollars for the privilege of
her looms. And with the doubling of
her cottctti crop she has doubled her
exports and her assessed property.
Then, there was scarcely in all her
borders, the smokestack of a factory
to be found. New England mills wove
all the fabric of her fields, and her iron
and her coal lay dead in dreamless
mines. To-day, thousands of spin-
dles hum where primeval silence
reigned, and thousands of furnaces
light up the night where once shone
only the garish stars. In her mills she
consumes now more cotton than New
England and the rest of the country,
and the furnaces of Alabama alone
are the despair of Pittsburg trust mak-
ers and the glory of the rest of the
world. Every product of her homes,
her fields, her forests, her mines, her
mills, and even the brains of her folks,
reads like a multiplication table; be-
ginning with the doubling of her cot-
ton crop in the past decade and a half
alone, the trebling of her manufac-
turing products, her railroad mileage
and her farms; multiplying by five
her lumber; by six, her capital; by

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WILLIAM JASPER

eight, her pig iron ; by nine, her phos-
phate; by ten, her cotton bales con-
sumed; by eleven, her money in cot-
ton mills; by twelve, her tons of
mined coal ; by fourteen, her spindles ;
by sixteen, her coke ; by seventeen, her
cotton mills; by eighteen, her capital
in them I

The mind cannot grasp these fig-
ures at random, but it may remember
the story of the man who, not know-
ing the force of simple progression,
offered -a blacksmith one cent for the
first nail in the shoe; two cents for
the second; four cents for the third;
eight cents for the fourth, and so on
to the last nail of the four shoes to

find that his bill to the blacksmith ran
into the millions.

From the dreamy, conservative life
of the cotton planter — the sky dream-
ing above him, men and women dream-
ing with him, and the hidden, inex-
haustible world products dreaming be-
neath — ^the South has suddenly been
turned into the forge of a blacksmith
and the plant of a loom where the iron
steeds of commerce must come to be
shod and the ships of the world must
come for their wings.

[The next Historic Highway will be tbe ao-
oonnt of the capture of gunboats by Forrest's
cavalry, the only time lo the history of warfare.
It is sald» that it was ever done.]

WILLIAM JASPER

By Robert L. Taylor

BORN IN SOUTH CAROLINA ABOUT 1750. KILLED
AT THE ASSAULT ON SAVANNAH, OCTOBER 9, 1779

IT is natural when we read of the
deeds of heroes to want to know
somewhat of the ancestry and
training of those brave fellows who
can plan and execute bold feats which
are amazing in that they come from
the unschooled, whom nature has
endowed with that greatest of
all g^fts, the gift of good sense.
But inquiry is not always re-
warded by tfie finding of a long roll
of illustrious lineage nor careful train-
mg in the duties of a hero. It is part
of God's great plan of equalization to
raise from the blackness of the nether-
most obscurity names which shine
upon the scroll of fame with luster
undimmed by the proximity of those
bom to greatness. We expect men
like Lee and Washington and Perry
and Dewey to do great deeds, for it
was part of their education to study
the heroic performances of their for-
bears, and the nobility of their names
carried the obligation of self-forget-
ting; but the historian who seeks for

the mainspring of heroism in the
"unknown great" finds it proceeds
sometimes from emulation of the ex-
ploits of which the backwoods boy in
his youth had earnestly read by the
pine knot fire ; sometimes he finds no
trace of earnestness or study, but
merely a shiftless, dreamy boyhood,
whose youth gave no hint of achieve-
ment. Without exception, however,
it will be found that every man who
has risen above his fellows in courage
or heroism had a mother of unusual
force of character, for, after all, hero-
ism and courage are spiritual quali-
ties, and these are practiced by wom-
an in her daily life, finding recognized
expression mainly through the deeds
of her sons. Read the histories of
Washington, of Lee, of Jackson, of
Davis, and you will find they were
favorite sons of their mothers, that
the bond between them and their
mothers was unusually strong. Read
the account of Bedford Forrest's
mother being attacked by a catamount

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as she rode through the woods with
a sack of "gyarden truck" for a
sick neighbor and a child before
her on her horse. With no wea-
pon but her bare fists she van-
quished the attacking beast and calmly
continued her errand of mercy. We
see, then, that it was only a develop-
ment under opportunity that won for
the son of this magnificent woman the
sobriquet of "Wizard of the Saddle."

Such a mother's son, we may rest
assured, was William Jasper. To-day
every schoolchild knows him as the
daring "Sergeant Jasper," who leaped
through an embrasure in the ramparts
at Fort Moultrie under a shower of can-
non balls, recovered and replaced the
flag of South Carolina, whose staflf had
been shot to pieces. Few know of his
subsequent record, and none knows
his life previous to that one deed.
That he asserted himself a native of
the colony and twenty-six years of age
when he enlisted in the Second South
Carolina Regiment in 1776, is all that
is known of him. So little did he con-
cern himself with being a hero that
he never hedged himself about with
the divine exclusiveness through
which items of important knowledge
filter mysteriously, but certainly. Nor
in the hard, rough life of the common
soldier of that time did he claim the
place of leading braggart which might
have been his, but as he had lived his
life so unobtrusively and simply be-
fore becoming a hero that no one of
any importance knew any of its in-
cidents, so among his comrades
around the camp fire he bore himself
as a small part of the g^eat whole.
And when the governor of the colony
sent for him and in the absence of
means to make medals or gift swords,
offered him his own official blade, the
richest gift within his power, the sim-
ple fellow said: "No; what can I do
with the jeweled weapon which re-
cently signified a royal honor be-
stowed upon Governor Rutledge ? Can
I wield it more effectively than my
own trusty bayonet?"

"But," urged the governor, "we will
make you a lieutenant and promote
you to higher office as occasion of-

fers, and such a sword will befit youf
rank as well as your deeds."

"Nay," was the sturdy reply. "I am
but a yeoman and have done what
any of my comrades would have done.
I can neither read nor write, and
would feel but ill in the company of
the officers."

The news of this renunciation gave
Sergeant Jasper a warm place in the
hearts of the soldiers, and his com-
mander, Colonel Moultrie, appreciat-
ing this, and knowing he could de-
pend upon his cool judgment and
dashing bravery, gave him a roving
commission to scour the country with
a small band, surprising and captur-
ing the enemy's outposts, making
night attacks on small camps and har-
rying and worrying the British after
the fashion of Marion, the "Swamp
Fox" — a fashion new to them,
and one which they never learned to
incorporate in their routine of war.

Jasper's achievements with his lit-
tle company equal any recorded in
Revolutionary annals, but as his men
were few and his attacks consequently
confined to the smaller bodies of the
enemy, none of them brought him into
the limelight, and it might have been
thought that his deed at Fort Moul-
trie would be the solitary shining spot
in an obscure career. Yet, in 1778,
scouring the forests with a single com-
panion, he came upon a party of Brit-
ish soldiers, some eight or ten, bearing
four American prisoners to headquar-
ters, and by dint of making a great
' noise in the underbrush and rapid fir-
ing from its cover, turned the tables
completely, and marched the British
to prison.

The Colonial successes in the South
were disheartening to the British,
knowing as they did that their forces
were superior in numbers, equipment
and military knowledge. By all the
laws of the science of war they ought
to have had no trouble in spanking a
refractory little colony into repentance
and subsequent obedience. But the
problems that worked out so smoothly
in the ministry meetings at home and
were O. K.'d so readily in the camp
conclaves of Howe and Comwallis,

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WILLIAM JASPER

had a disappointing way of failing
of the assured result when interfered
with by the gaunt, elusive patriots.
The attack upon Savannah was real-
ized by both sides as a desperate re-
sort. Each assembled all the forces
available, and in the course of the ex-
press rider's rounds Sergeant Jasper
received a summons to leave his
greenwood stronghold and join the
/command of General Lincoln. No
thought of the sacrifice of his practi-
cally independent command for a re-
duction to the ranks entered his head.
With his wild-looking band of follow-
ers he repaired with all possible speed
to headquarters. This man had, it
would seem, but one rule of conduct,
and that was the immediate perform-
ance of every duty that presented it-
self and to do it in the simplest way
possible. For the rest, he never lolled
nor lagged nor waited for opportunity
to dig him out, but held himself always
alert and ready to meet with a quick-
ness which resembled a feminine intui-

tion, any condition which cbnfronted
him.

On October ninth, he was in the
column which, under General Lincoln
and the noble D'Estaing, attacked the
Spring Hill redoubt. Seeing the tide
of battle at the flood, and ready to be
turned, the valiant sergeant seized the
regimental colors and scaling the
parapet, planted them aloft. Alas!
The bravery which had carried him
>unscathed through a worse fire at
Moultrie availed him naught here. A
ball struck him down even as he fixed
the ensign in place, and the gallant
fellow was removed forever from the
field of golden deeds, to be henceforth
a glorious name high up on the scroll
of heroes. Uneducated, uncouth, with-
out the natural gifts which sometimes
polish a man deficient in opportunities,
surely the truth was spoken of Ser-
geant Jasper when it was said of old :
''Every man is eloquent in that which
he understands."

NIGHTS WITH GHOSTS

By William McDonald Goodman
I— THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

*HERE the stories
came from no one
could tell. That a
large number could
be crowded into the
head of one fairly
intelligent Southern
darky of the old
school was a well-
known fact, but it
did not explain the
case in question. Everything that
happened— every spot on which his
eyes rested for a moment, the chirp of
a cricket, the hop of a toad, the hum
of a bee, the hoot of an owl, the cry
of a whippoorwill, the 'possum-hunt-
er's torch and horn, the howl of a dog
2

— any one of these sights or sounds
served to remind Uncle Adam of a
"ha'nt tale," the telling of which was
a specialty in which he excelled.

He came into the kitchen one even-
ing where Aunt Martha was washing
dishes and "runnin' on" about various
things for the entertainment of little
Lucia and Johnny — "young marster's
chilluns" — and piling an armful of
stovewood in the corner, he observed :

*T wuz a-settin' out yonder des
awhile ago, a-tryin' to git myse'f on
de outside uv a fifty-poun* watermillin
whut me en Marse Bob raise in dat
patch er his'n, en ez I happen fer to
look over on de hill at de lights in
dat big residince whut dat 'ar Mister

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Whatchegtiame's des built, a tale pop
into my head whut ain't b'en dar in so
long I done fergot wharbouts I fus'
heerd it. I sho' is got to tell dat 'ar
tale to somebody befo' I fergits it oflP*n
my mine agin."

"I bet I kin tell you two things
'bout dat tale befo' you staht," said
Aunt Martha.

"Let's hear 'um den," he requested.

"Well, in de fus' place, de tale's a
ha'nt tale," she asserted.

"Glad I didn't bet wid you," he re-
plied. "You hit it de fus' pop. Whut
denex'?"

"De nex' is dat dar's a nigger mix'
up wid it."

"You done heerd de tale!" he ex-
claimed, grinning delightedly.

"Naw, I ain't I des know dat no
tale but a ha'nt tale gwine take up
wid you atter dark, en no ha'nt tale
gwine to set des right wid you 'less'n
dar's a skeerd nigger in it."

"Aun' Marthy," he observed, "you
oughter be President er dese here
Nuniten States. You is sho' got de
head fer to keep de gov'ment bocJcs."

"Le's hear de tale," she said.

"Well, ez de tale come to me — ^now
here dem chilluns a-pilin' up on my lap
so's I cayn't git my bref — ez de lalc
come to me, hit seemed lak one time a
man own a big mansion house, set
way up in a big yahd on a hill, w~hat
uz so full uv sperrits dat nobody would
live in it, en it 6tay dar 'long wid
its bunch er ha'nts twell de man die,
makin' one ha'nt mo', en den dey
foun' dat de man had lef de house
en grounds in his will to de state
whar he live in, to be use' fer a 'sylum
fer crazy folks. Dat how de tale go,
en it keep gwine twell de house is turn
into a big 'sylum en is filled wid luna-
tics ez well ez ghostes ; en dar you is."

"Naw, I ain't dar," she exclaimed,
"en ef de good Lawd'U spare me, I
ain't gwine be dar."

"Well," he continued, laughing,
"hit seem lak de man whut run de
place ain't skeerd, but I dunno how
come dat, 'less'n it's kaze folks what
kin put up wid crazy people kin stan*
anything. It went on, it did, twell
one day a nigger man whut wuz a

stranger 'roun' dar, walk up en ax
one er de men fer a job. De man
say he b'lieve he got all de he'p he
need. Nigger say he des got to have
work dar, no matter how little de pay
is. Dad-jim his fool hide, he didn't
know what kinder double-barrel hark-
f'um-de-tomb he tryin' to break into.
All he know wuz dat a hongry nigger
smell ham fryin'."

The old darky paused, shook his
head, laughed, and then sang out as
he danced little Johnny on his knee —

"Mister Zooks! Mister Zooks!
I'm a-comin'. Mister Zooks!"

"Who Mister Zooks?" Aunt Mar-
tha inquired. "Ef he de man what
run de 'sylum, I guess he callin' you."

"I ain't crazy," he answered.

"You talk like you is."

"Well, I ain*t. Mister Zooks is de
highmucklemuck er dis tale. He don't
come in des here, but he on my mine
so strong dat I hatter inter juce him."

"Funny way to do it," she averred.

"Not nigh ez funny ez it might be,"
he replied. "Ef I should rise en say,
'Mister Zooks, 'low me to persent you
to Miss Marthy,' en dis yer Mister
Zooks should step up en make er bow,
Marse Bob would hatter sen' fer de
carpenters to build up whut a fat nig-
ger 'oman tore down. You wouldn't
wait to git de do' open — ^you'd make
a do' w"haruver you hit de side de
house. 'Sides dat, ef Mister Zooks.
er any uv his fambly wuz here, I'd
be some'rs else."

"Go on wid de tale," she com-
manded.

"Dat what I doin' when you come
er 'sturbin' me en Johnny wid yo' in-
terrupshuns. De man at de 'sylum
he hired dat nigger fer his bo'd en
clo'es, but de bo'd 'uz all he got, fer he
lef his clo'es behin' when he th'owed
up de job. He hired de nigger, he
did, ez a sorter man uv all work 'routi'
de place. Fus' day he mowed weeds
in de yard. Dat 'uz all right. Second
day he clean out de stables. Dat 'uz
all right, too. Thu'd day he mop de
flo's. En right dar de trouble begin."

"Han'ts don't show deyse'f in day-
light," Aunt Martha observed, argu-
mentatively.

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NIGHTS WITH GHOSTS

"Nobody ain't say dey showed dey-
se'f in daylight," he answered. "I
ain't say nothin' 'bout han'ts. I say
dat's whar de trouble begin. En it
did. De nigger he scrub de flo's.
Crazy folks out fer a walk, en he feel
putty free, but he b'en pestered in his
mine uver sence he foun' out what
kinder place he stayin' at. He done
fix it up in his head dat de fus' time
he kin git a good- runnin' start he
gwineter resign. He scrub de flo's,
he did, en atter while he come to a
long, wide hall, en fix fer to scrub
dat. Den he hear sump'n. Hit down
to'ds de yuther en' er de buildin'. He
liss'n, en fus' thing he know he see
what make de noise. He lode down de
hall en see a crazy 'oman runnin' to'ds
him. He set down his bucket en broom
en ra'r back on his hocks ready to do
de bird ack. Den he heerd de 'oman
caU—

" 'Mister Zooks ! Mister Zooks ! I'm
a-comin', Mister Zooks !*

"He thought she talkin' to him at
fus', en sorter sidle back agin de wall.
But she come on, lookin' straight
ahead. Den she stop en look lak
whut she atter done gone. She look
awhile dis way, she did, en den she
bus' out cryin' en turn roun' en go
back.

"It seem lak one time, ez de tale go,
dis here 'oman wuz in love wid a
man name Mister Zooks. She love
him, en he didn't love her. She run
atter him all de time, en all de time
he dodge her. You know how it wuz,
Aun' Marthy — sorter like me en you."

"I ain't nuver run atter no good-
fer-nothin' nigger man sence I been
bawn into dis worl'!" she answered,
indignantly, but good naturedly. "You
nee'nter come talkin' no fool talk lak
dat My name ain't Eve, en ef I uver
runn'd atter anybody his name wa'nt
Adam."

"Well, ez dat happeu to be my
name, I reckon you don't 'member
things lak I does. Howsomuver, dat's
needer here ner dar."

"You know I ain't nuver run atter
you, nigger!" she insisted.

"I ain't sayin' dat you did, ef you
don't remember it," he replied, sooth-

ingly. "I'm tryin' to tell de tale whut
I started out to tell. De 'oman she
run atter de man, en pester him twell
he worry hisse'f sick en die. You
dunno how dat is, but I do."

"I know you de bigges' fool uver
raise on dis place," was the scornful
reply.

"I ain't talkin' 'bout dat. I'm tellin'
how de man worry hisse'f sick en
die," he continued. "He worry hisse'f
sick en die, en den de 'oman went
'stracted en wuz sont to de 'sylum.
Dat how come things lak dey wuz.
She landed 'mungst de y'uther crazy
folks, en Mister Zooks ha'nt it hatter
run wid birds uv a feather, too, so hit
jine de ha'nts what been in dat hpuse
so long. Darfo' en hereby we see
dat death didn't he'p Mister Zooks
out'n his troubles. But dat's tellin' de
tale befo' it begin.

"De nigger see de way de 'oman
do dat day, en he didn't like dem kind-
er capers. De 'oman do 'zackly
lak she see somebody en try to ketch
up wid 'urn. Niggex he make up his
mine dat he gwine leave dat place
soon ez night come. He think dat'll
be easy, ez he b'en sleepin' inde barn,
en de barn do' stay open. Dat night,
howsumuver, de head man uv de
'sylum say to de nigger, he did, *I got
yo' room fixed up at de fur en' er de
hall, en you won't hatter sleep in de
barn no mo'.' Nigger say he much
oblige, but he b'en sleepin' in bams
all his life, en he wouldn't feel at
home nowhars else. But de man 'sist
on him occurpyin' de room, en show
him to it, en den go out en lock de
main do' to de buildin'. De winders
wuz barred wid iron bars. Dar wuz
de nigger, shet up at night wid crazy
folks, en he dunno whut else. Dat
Mister Zooks business wuz buzzin'
'roun' in his mine, en it don't look lak
sump'n to laugh at, not by any man-
ner er means. Well,' when you cayn't
do no better you mus' do de bes' you
kin, so de nigger he went to bed.
He try to lock de do' to de room, but
de lock done broke. He put a cheer
agin de do' en try to stay awake en
watch it. He sleepy at fus', en its
hard work, but d'reckly he commence

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to hear some crazy laughs en yells
Voun' th'oo de house, en den he fer-
git all about gwine ter sleep, en des
lay dar watchin' de cheer 'gin de do'.
He lay dar, he did, en atter so long a
time he hear a familiarsome soun'.
'Way down de hall come a-patterin'
uv feets, en a voice whut say:

" *Mister Zooks! Mister Zooks ! I'm
a-comin', Mister Zooks!'

**He hear dat, en den de fus' thing
he know de do' flew open, en whut he
fail to see in de light he seed in de
night. De do' flew open, en in rush
de fo'm uv a man so white en clear
dat he could see plum th'oo him, clo'es
en all, en de ha'nt, fer dat's whut it
wuz, jump right in de bed en under
de bedclose wid de nigger, en it felt
des like a col' chill. But de nigger
didn't feel mo' dan de fus' bre.'f er de
chill. He got no business dar any
longer dan it take to make a 'stonish-
in' sort er jump, so out er de bed he
come en out de do' he went, des ez
de crazy 'oman come in. She see
de ha'nt jump in de bed, en she see
de nigger come* out instinkly wid
nothin' on 'cep' his underdose, en de
motions uv bo'f wuz so samer date she
fail to 'stinguish de diffunce. Darfo'
she light out atter de nigger, callin':

" 'Mister Zooks ! Mister Zooks ! I'm
a-comin', Mister Zooks!'

"Here dey went — nigger ahead en
de 'oman behine. He mighty nigh ez
soon have er ha'nt to ketch him ez a
crazy 'oman, but he ain't 'tickler 'bout
which he runnin' fu'm — he des' doin'
his almighty bes' on gen'ul princer-
puls. He run, he did, twell he got
'bout halfway down de hall, en here
two y'uther crazy 'omans jump out en
try to stop him, but dey ain't on to de

job er jumpin' lak he is, so he des
jump over 'urn en pass on. He come
to de en' er de hall en here rise fo'
ha'nts, holdin' out dey long, bony
arms. It seem lak de y'uther crazy
folks en de y'uther ha'nts done gone
in cahoots wid de 'oman fer to help
ketch her sweet'art."

''G'way fu'm here!*' Aunt Martha
exclaimed. '1 say sweet'art."

''Well, in co'se none uv us is gwine-
ter try to ketch er sweet'art er dat
kind," he said, "en it 'ud hatter git
up soon in de mawnin' to ketch us.
But dat's how it wuz, es de tale go.
De crazy folks en de ha'nts sot out fer
to head off Mister Zooks, en de nigger
wuz movin' 'roun' so fas' in Mister
Zooks' place dat dey couldn't tell 'um
apart. I guess dey thought Mister
Zooks ack mighty soople en spry in his
ole age — e — r haw! haw! whoo! I
gollies, I kin see dat nigger right now !
Cayn't you see him, Aun' Marthy?
Cayn't you des stan' flat-footed en be-
hol' de capers he cut? Lawd, Lawd!
Some er dese days I gwineter git to
thinkin' 'bout dis tale en t'ar sump'n
a-loose inside er me."

"Whut de nigger do?" she asked.

"Whut he do? Well, dar wa'n't but
one thing in dis here worl' fer him to
do, en dat wuz to git out'n dar, en ez
de tale go he manage dat to de 'struck-
shun er de property soon as he got a
fair shake at de front do'. Some say
he des bus' de do' down. Y'uthers
say part de house went wid it. I
ain't a-sayin' which wuz de case, en I
won't sw'ar to nothin' 'cept dat de
nijsfger changed his new name f'um
Mister Zooks to Mister Zoon, en
zooned outer dar same ez one er dese
ver hummin' birds."

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LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH

Photo by Parker, Marshall

MARGARET ALEXANDER

Marshall. Texas

Hodges, BHstvl
MARY LOUISE SMITH
Bristol, Virginia

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24 THE TAYLOR-TROTWCMDD MAGAZINE

MARY ELIZABETH WILSON

pirmin^bam, Alabama

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LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH 25

photo fry EeJOer, Hot Bprktgs

JAMES MAX CHAMBERLAIN
HalTern, Arkansafl

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26 THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

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LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH

I'hotc by Calvert Brother t

EDWIN MCNEILLY
Nashville

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ttd
H

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THE NEW STATE CAPITOL OF
MISSISSIPPI '

By Eron Opha Rowland

JACKSON, the capital city of the
State of Mississippi, is situated
near the central portion of the
state, and has a population of
30,000. It has for nearly a century
been the seat of government, and has
numbered among its inhabitants many
men whose culture and learning would
have made them potent figures in any
place in which they resided. There
is, to-day, much culture atjd wealth
in the city, and State Street, which is
one of the principal residence streets,
with its handsome homes and well-
kept velvety lawns, is one of the love-
liest in the South.

The marvelous growth of the city
during the past few years has excited
great interest in commercial circles,
and many large enterprises, which
will mean much in the future, are con-
tinually being launched by capitalists.
A little apart from the business por-
tion of the dty, occupying a slight
eminence, the state's new capitol
building stands, clothed, as it were, in
a dignity and repose that charm all
beholders. From every portion of the
city one catches a glimpse of its mag-
nificent stone walls, great columns and
high, white dome, the last Surmounted
by a shining bronze eagle, whose wide
extended wings soar out on the soft,
blue air, measuring sixteen feet from
tip to tip.

The story of the building, which is
the pride of all Mississippians and the
admiration of visitors from other
states, has its beginning in that wave
of prosperity which swept over the
state a decade ago. The cry for a new
capitol was heard from every quarter
of the commonwealth, and so vigor-

ous did the clamor become that the
result was the erection of the splen-
did structure of stone and marble
which now ornaments the capital city.

The old capitol occupies handsome
grounds near the heart of the city,
and though much dilapidated, is a
majestic structure. Great oaks cluster
closely about it, some of which are
nearly as old, perhaps, as the state
itself. The building is interwoven
with the history of Mississippi for
nearly a century, among the great
events which have transpired within its
walls, besides the brilliant inaugurals
and assemblings of legislative lx>dies,
being a reception to C^neral Jackson,
with whom the people of the state
had so many hopes in common. There
it was that Colonel Jefferson Davis,
returning from Mexico, with freshly
laureled brow, received a great burst
of applause from an admiring people.
It was in this same old building, too,
in after years, that he delivered his
last public speech amid wilder and
more tumultuous applause, for,
"though he had brought them unsuc-
cess, in the hearts of his countrymen
he triumphed still."

The passage of the Ordinance of
Secession of Mississippi took place
within these historic walls; and after
many weary years, full of the bitterness
and ruthlessness of civil war, the great
Constitutional Convention, which re-
stored to the state, and ultimately to
the whole South, the kindly rule of
intelligence, assembled there. These,
and many other soul-stirring incidents
hallow it in the minds of the peo-
ple.

But to continue in the old building,

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

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THE NEW STATE CAPITOL OF MISSISSIPPI

notwithstanding their reverence for its
hoary and honorable age, was to the
people of this prosperous generation
like putting new wine into old bottles ;
so with care and deliberation the work
on the new building was begun. It
was erected at the cost of one million
dollars; a modest sum compared with
that expended in the erection of some
buildings; but "graft" had not
touched this rural people, and every
workman, contractor and subcontrac-
tor felt himself individually responsi-
ble for the outcome. Nothing was
done hurriedly, and every stone com-
posing the great building was tested
by an expert before it was used.
Theodore C. Link, of St. Louis, was
the architect, and his son, Karl E.
Link, with the skill of an artist,
wrought out the design, which proved
to be a masterpiece of architecture,
combining great strength and dignity
with perfect grace and symmetry.

The foundations of the building are
of cement concrete, and on this rests
the base stones of Georgia granite.
From this granite base the building
rises to the height of one hundred and
thirty-five feet, and is carried out in
Renaissance style with gray Bedford
stone. G>stly marbles, among which
are the black Belgian, Vermont, Ven-
etian and Italian, enter into the inte-
rior construction; and while passing
through its long marble corridors and
up its graceful marble stairways, one
readily accepts the truth of the as-
sertion that this is the most ideal piece
of architectural work in the South.

One of the most artistic points of
. the building is the tympanum, which
ornaments the pediment of the portico
of the front entrance, which entrance
is, perhaps, the most imposing feature
of the building. The tympanum is
composed of a group of figures sym-
bolical of the arts, industries and re-
sources of the state. There are four-
teen in all; the principal one, seated
on a throne, with feet on a cotton bale,
in the right hand the sword of empire
and in the left the palm branch, repre-
sents the great Commonwealth of Mis-
sissippi. About this the other figures

are gracefully grouped. The tympa-
num was designed principally by Dr.
Paul H. Saunders, of Laurel, Missis-
sippi.

The wall of the second floor, near
the landing, is adorned with three
handsome stained windows, which rep-
resent the passing of the aborigines,
the coming of the Anglo-Saxon and
the establishment of law and order.
High up, ornamenting the frieze of
the great rotunda, are four bas-relief
faces of Blind Justice, an ancient idea,
which explains the Pagan's keen sense
of that Justice which the Christian has
interpreted as "no respecter of per-
sons."

Every hall, corridor and apartment
of the great building, the stately
Legislative halls, the gubernitoriil
offices and the handsome library, are
all beautifully and artistically finished.
On the first floor, which is fast being
converted into a great storehouse for
records, the Historical Department is
established and connected with it is
the state's Hall of Fame. This is a
beautiful, classic room, the walls of
which are adorned with magnificent
oil portraits of distinguished Missis-
sippians, who have made the past his-
tory of the state. The Historical De-
partment is under the control of a
number of the most scholarly men of
the state.

The dedication of the new Capitol
occurred on the 3d of June, 1903, the
birthday of Jefferson Davis, and the
exercises were, perhaps, the most im-
posing ever witnessed in the state. A
special number of the Times-Demo-
crat, of New Orleans, was given up
to the description and the publication
of speeches made by Bishop Charles
B. Galloway and Chief Justice Albert
Hall Whitfield.

The grounds around the capitol are,
as yet, in a state of transition; but
hundreds of handsome young trees
from the great forests of Mississippi
have been transplanted there, and it
will be but a short while when the
g-orgeous magnolia and stately live-
oak will bury in cool shadow the broad
concrete walks and approaches.

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ANNE: MORE LEAVES FROM HER

DIARY

By Kate Trimble Sharber

July 20. — Did you ever think what a
dear old thing anybody's black mammy
is, my diary, especially when she's done
all the cooking and raised you for
twenty-five years? Mammy Lou has
belonged to us just like Pa and Ma
ever since weVe been at housekeep-
ing, and my heart almost breaks to-
night when I think of the fire in our
stove that won't burn, and the dasher
in our chum that is still. Ever since
I have kept a diary I have been awful
glad to hear about anybody being in
love, and took great pleasure in watch-
ing them and writing it all out, for I
could always imagine it was me that
was the lady. But I would rather
never keep a diary another day than
to have had such a thing ha^nen to
Mammy Lou.

When Ma heard about it she said
not to be an old fool, but Mammy Lou
said "either Marse Shakespeare or
Marse Solomom said a old fool was
the biggest fool, and she wasn't goin'
to make him out a lie. So marry that
Yankee nigger she was !"

Bill Williams first came here to
teach school, being very proud and
educated. Then he got to be Dilsey's
beau, and they expected to marry.
When he first commenced going to
see Dilsey, Mammy Lou would cook
the nicest kind of things for her to
take to picnics, hooingr to help her
catch him in a motherly way. But
when he started to promising to give
Dilsev a rocking chair, and take her
to "George Washington" if she would
marry him. Mammy Lou changed
about. She had always wanted to
see a large city herself, and she
thought it wasn't any use of letting

Dilsey get all the best things in life
even if she was her child.

Pretty soon she commenced wear-
ing red ribbon around her neck and
having her hair wrapped once a week.
Then she told him that she was the
good cook that cooked all the picnic
things and ironed all of Dilsey's nice
dresses ; also that she had seventy-five
dollars saved up which she would be
willing to spend on a grand bridal
trip the next time she got married.
Mammy Lou is a smart old thing, and
she talked to him until he said all
right, he would just as soon marry her
as Dilsey, if she would stop codcing
for us and just cook for him and iron
his shirts. She promised him she
would do this, like people always do
when they're trying to marry a per-
son, though it looks very different
afterwards. None of Mammy's other
husbands have ever been so proud.
They would not only let her cook, but
would come around at meal-time, in
the friendliest kind of way, and help
her draw a bucket of water. This is
why the whole family's heart is break-
ing and we feel so hungry to-night.
She's quit, and the wedding is to- *
morrow.

July 21. — ^This morning early she
came up to the house to ask Ma if it
would be excusable to take off her
widow's bonnet, not being divorced
from Uncle Mose but four months;*
also how she had better carry her
money to keep him from getting a
hold of it. She said she wouldn't trust
any white Yankee with a half-dollar
that she ever saw, much less a coffee-
colored one. Ma was so mad at her
and so troubled about the sad biscuits

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ANNE: MORE LEAVES FROM HER DIARY

and the watery gravy at breakfast
that she said she hoped he would
steal every cent of the seventy-five
dollars before the ceremony was over
and that would bringf Mammy Lou to
her senses.

"And me not get to go to George
Washington?" Mammy said in a hurt-
like voice ; "why, Mis? Mary !"

"Where is this George Washing-
ton?" Ma took time to ask, thinking
Mammy would know she was pdcing
fun at her, but she didn't.

"Law! I didn't know my white
folks did know such a little until I got
a school teacher. It's where the Presi-
dent and his wife lives. Mr. Wil-
liams is mighty well acquainted with
the President, and says he is certain
I could get a place to cook for the
family, only I ain't to cook for nobody
but him from now on."

Ma wouldn't encourage her to talk
about her love and matrimony any, so
she took me by the hand and we went
out and sat on the kitchen doorstep
and had a long conversation. She
seemed sad at the notion of leaving .
us, but she was so much delighted at
the idea of marrying a young man, as
anybody would be, and going to
Washington that she could not think
of giving that up. Pretty soon in our
long talk she commenced telling me
about the things that happened a long
time ago when I was a child, like peo-
ple do when they are going on a long
journey or die.

She began from the time I was born
and said I was such a brown little
thing that I always looked like I had
tobacco- juice instead of blood run-
ning through me. And I made use
of a bottle until* I was four years
old. Because I was the only one of
Ma's and Pa's children that lived and
was bom like Isaac (/ don't know of
any special way that Isaac was bom,
but two of Mammy's husbands have
been preachers, so she knows what
she's talking about) they let me keep
the bottle to humor me. It had a long
mbber thing to it so I would find it
more convenient. Mammy said the
old muley cow was laid aside just for
my benefit, and when I got big enough

to walk I'd go with her into the cow
lot every hour in the day and drag
my bottle behind me to be milked
into. I enjoyed being milked into my
mouth, too, if the bottle was too dirty
to hold it just then.

Mammy said I always admired the
sunshine so much that I would sit out
in it on hot days till my milk bottle
would clabber, which was one cause
of my brownness. When I found out
I couldn't gnaw an)rthing up through
the mbber I'd cry and take it to Mam-
my. She would quiet me by digging
all the clabber out with a stiff little
twig which she would feed to the
chickens. They got to knowing the
sound of me and my bottle dragging
over the gravels so well that they
would come a-mnning, like they do
when they hear you scrape the plates.

This, of course, was very touching
to us both, and we nearly cried when
she talked about going to Washington,
where all the people are too stylish
to keep a muley cow. They won't
even keep a baby there, but the ladies
keep little dogs and get divorces.

Ma wouldn't go to the wedding,
for dinner and supper was worse than
breakfast. The rest of the family all
went except Dilsey, who didn't much
like the way Mammy had done her.
Professor and Mrs. Young went, being
still down here and a great pleasure
to us all. They were delighted, being
raised up North, and wanted to take
pictures of everything. Whenever we
would pass a cabin with a nigger and
his guitar sitting in the front door,
and him picking on it, they would say
it was so "picture S." And the real
old uncles with white hair, and the
mammies with their heads tied up,
they said reminded them of "Aunty
Bellum days." I guess she was their
old cook when they were little.

Everything went off as nice as
could be expected under the circum-
stances until the preacher said, "Sa-
lute your bride." Then when Bill
started to kiss her, Mammy Lou laid
her hand against the side of his head
so hard you could of heard it clear
up to the house, and said she would
teach him then and there how to show

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

impudence to a woman of sixty, even
if he was a Yankee and educated. The
slap didn't seem to set very well on
him, being nineteen years old and not
used to such. We left right after the
ceremony, and Mammy Lou and the
others walked on down to her house
to wait for the twelve o'clock train,
that they was going to leave on. Al-
though I always enjoy going to places
with the Youngs on account of the
curious words and the picture-taking
camera, and although it was the sixth
marriage of my old nurse, which, of
course, you don't get a chance to wit-
ness every day, still when I think of
breakfast in the morning, I must say
it was the saddest wedding I ever
saw.

July 22. — This morning when I first
woke up and heard that regular old
tune, "Play on Your Harp, Little
David," coming so natural and life-
like from the kitchen I thought it
surely must be a dream. Mammy being
hundreds of miles away in Washing-
ton. It kept on, though, just like it
has done every morning for twenty-
five years :

"Shad-rach, Af^-shach, and A-bed-nt-go,
The Lord has washed me white as snow"

so I got up. It never does take me a
minute to wash my face of a morn-
ing, and this morning it took less. I
hopped into my clothes and flew down
stairs. It wasn't any dream. There
was Mammy, not looking married nor
anything, and a cheerful fire in the
stove and some bacon smelling like
you was nearly starved. I didn't ask
any questions, but just said "Mam-
my," and she said, "Baby," and there
I was hugging her fit to turn over the
churn. I asked her if Ma knew, and
she said no, she had been easy and
not made any noise, so as to surprise
us all. I reckon Ma and Pa are so
used to having Shadrach, Meshach
and Abednego wake them up of a
morning that it seemed like a dream
to them, too. Pretty soon they heard
us talking, though, and came in. Ma
came first, for, of course, it is a gen-
tleman's place to let a lady go into the
kitchen first when they think that
breakfast is to be got.

Ma said, "What are you doing
here?" and Mammy Lou said, "Get-
ting breakfast, Miss Mary," which
was about as straightforward as they
could have been with each other. Then
Ma asked her if she wasn't still mar-
ried, and she said no, for she had had
occasion to give that uppish, Yankee
nigger a good whipping last night, and
she told Dilsey she could have him if
she wanted him. She said she hoped
Dilsey would take him, for she would
just admire to be mother-in-law to
that nigger.

I remembered hearing Pa once say
that the devil must have been in a
bilious spell when he made a mother-
in-law, so I hoped for his sake Bill
would let one marrying be enough.

Just then Pa came in, hearing the
last remark about "that nigger,'* and
asked Mammy Lou what was the
trouble between her and her husband.
She was breaking eggs into the big
yellow bowl that she was going to
scramble for breakfast, and as she
told us about her marrying troubles
«he commenced to beat them very
hard, which seemed to ease her. It is
a great help to people to think of
their enemies when they are beating
things, for it makes them beat harder
and don't really hurt the enemies. And
if you are helping chop up peaches
for jam and can keep your mind on
that one person, you chop so hard the
juice flies up and almost puts your
eyes out thinking if it was just her
or him you were chopping.

Mammy said when they got home
from the wedding she started to
change her white dress and veil and
put on her good cashmere dress to
wear on the train. Just then Mr.
Williams spoke up and remarked that
he was sleepy and wanted to get a
good night's rest, and would she have
him a rare steak for his breakfast.
Mammy asked him if he had been
bom a fool, or just turned that way
since he had married so far above his
station. He told her they would see
who the fool was before the week was
out, and that the steak better have
good beaten biscuits to go with it.
Then Mammy gave him another sam-

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ANNE: MORE LEAVES FROM HER DIARY

pie of her strength like she did in the
church and told him to go and change
his clothes to go to George Washing-
ton. Then he laughed in her face
right before Dilsey and the neighbors
and told her didn't she know George
Washington had been dead and buried
behind the church door for a hundred
years. He said "the ignorance of
country niggers is really aniusa-
ble."

Mammy said she hated to do it with
her veil on, being a new veil and she
hadn't used it but twice, but she
couldn't wait to take it off, him grin-
ning like a picture-taking man at his
funny joke. All his teeth was show-
ing, and as Mammy had always ad-
mired them being so big and white,
she decided to keep a handful to re-
member him by ; so she gave him one
good lick in the mouth with her wed-
ding slipper, which was very large and
easy to come off. This broke a good
half of his front tooth besides draw-
ing a good deal of blood to relieve
her feelings. While he was busy wip-
ing away the blood and trying to open
his eyes enough to see candle light
again, Mammy sat down by him and
before he knew it she had dragged
him across her lap and was paddling
him with that slipper like he was her
own dear son instead of her husband.
Then she called Dilsey and told her

she could feel safe about marrying
him if she still wanted him, for he
had better sense now than to try to
fool with any member of that family.
Mammy Lou said of course she
couldn't stay married to a man she
could paddle. She was too much of a
lady. But Dilsey turned up her nose
and said she wouldn't have any
second-handed nigger, much less a
whipped one.

Pa spoke up then and said she
couldn't give Bill to Dilsey without
getting a divorce from him first.
* Mammy Lou said, well, Marse Sheriff
might arrest her, and Marse Judge
might fine her, but she would see
them all in the place that was pre-
pared for them before she would
waste twenty-five dollars buying a
divorce just for that little speck of
marrying !

Pa went out to feed the chickens
pretty soon, and Ma went to wake up
Bertha (but not the baby) for break-
fast, and Mammy Lou scraped up the
eggs in the dish I had brought her.

"Divorce nothin'" I heard her re-
mark, as she soused the hot skillet
into water that sizzled, 'T done
bought a hundred dollars' worth of
divorces already, and if the lawyers
wusn't all scribes and Pharisees they
would let that run me the rest of my
days."

GOOD-NIGHT

I've lived my day; I've sung my song;

I've fought and loved and striven ;
The coming night is black and long —

I meet it calm, unshriven.

I've wrought and foi«ght as best I might

And struck no coward blow.
A man's a man ; a fight's a fight ;

This law is all I know.

And some sweet days of love T'.e had,

Dear days of pure delight ;
Then, oh ! defiant soul, be glad !

And, oh ! my love, good-night.

William R. Luke.

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MEN OF AFFAIRS

The Bailie, one of the pithiest jour-
nals in Scotland, says that Mr. Austin
"is the only Southern man sent to
Glasgow in the capacity of consul since
the Civil War in the States," and it
says further that "personally, Mr. Aus-
tin is a distinguished success, and Glas-
gow people, from the Lord Provost
downwards, have taken to him. As an
American he is pardonably proud of
his country and is a firm believer in
the sovereignty of
the citizen. He
is an excellent aft-
er-dinner speaker,
eloquent and hu-
morous, and al-
ways graceful in
compliment." This
appreciation is Mr.
Austin's birth-
right, for he is of
Scotch descent and
is besides, a citi-
zen of the world.
He was one of
the first consuls to
enter the service
under the new
rules requiring
representatives to
pass an examina-
tion.

Mr. Austin is
peculiarly suited
to the needs of
his office, having filled various posi-
tions of trust under Hayes, Garfield,
Arthur, Harrison, McKinley and
Roosevelt, having an extensive law
practice in Tennessee and eight years
of service as United States marshal.
Moreover, he is a newspaper man, hav-
ing been manager for some time of
the Knoxville Daily Chronicle and a
frequent contributor to other journals.
It will be seen that Mr. Austin is a

RICHARD W. AUSTIN

many-sided man and it will not be sur-
prising if his long years of faithful
public service are shortly rewarded
with even greater honors than he has
yet had.

Formerly the representatives of this
country in the consular posts of Eng-
land and Scotland were selected from
our literary men, with the result that
the society in these places came to look
upon the Americans as the most bril-
liant men of the
consular corps,
while the com-
merce of the coun-
try was diverted
by the other repre-
sentatives of less
brain and greater
business instincts.
Mr. Austin is a
keen, strenuous
man, quick to see
and grasp oppor-
tunities, a f fable
and accessible and
his term of office
cannot fail to in-
crease the kindly
feeling and broad-
en the trade rela-
tions between the
people of Glasgow
and the United
States. "His hos-
pitality to Ameri-
cans and particularly to Tennesseans
makes far-away Glasgow a garden
spot for the trans-Atlantic traveler,"
writes 'The Onlooker," in The Scots'
Pictorial.

Starting out in life as a clerk in the
post office at Qarksville, Tennessee,
and working at night in a bank at
that place, John Wellington Faxon has
reached a prominent position among

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MEN OF AFFAIRS 37

the bankers, not only of Tennessee but of Tennessee under General William
of the United States. He was for six A. Quarles, the Supervisor. For
years Secretary of the Tennessee nearly fifteen years he was an offi-
Bankers' Association and is now an cer in the First National Bank, of
honorary member of that organization. Chattanooga, which position he re-
He was for two terms the Vice Presi- signed in May, 1905 to engage in oth-
dent for Tennessee of the American er business. In June, 1905, he was
Bankers' Association, although on elected president of the firm of Faxon,
neither occasion was he in attendance Stuart & Co. (Incorporated), of Chat-
at the convention at which he was tanooga, dealers in stocks, bonds, se-
elected. Mr. Faxon was a
strenuous worker for the
adoption of the Negotiable
Instrument Law by the
Legislature of Tennessee,
and for his eflForts in se-
curing its passage he re-
ceived a vote of thanks
from the American Bank-
ers' Association, where the
law originated. He has
been twice endorsed and
strongly urged for the posi-
tion of Treasurer of the
United States by a host of
bankers and friends of
many States both North
and South, and he has in
his possession a letter from
President McKinley stat-
ing that "no man ever had
stronger endorsements for
the position of Treasurer of
the United States, but the
money centers of this coun-
try have always controlled
this appointment." He has
held many prominent posi-
tions in his State, and in
1894 was elected President
of the Chattanooga Cham-
ber of Commerce.

He compiled the "His-
tory of Banking in Tennes- «• b. glenn, governor of north Carolina

c«>A " urfiirVi ic o rfi^intpr in His recent ruling against the Southern Railway has eroked
bCC, wiiicri lb d umpici m ^ 3^,^ ^j discussion

Knox s History of Bank-
ing in the United States," published by curities, general insurance, and real
Bradford Rhodes & Co. He has con- estate agents.

tributed many articles of merit to the Mr. Faxon was born in Buffalo,

financial journals and public press of New York, and removed with his

the country, and he was for eighteen father's family to Clarksville in 1843,

years on the staff of the Louisville when a mere child.

Courier- Journal as the Clarksville cor- On his mother's side he is a

respondent. In 1859 he was appoint- descendant of Governor William

ed Assistant Supervisor of the Banks Bradford, who was a passenger on

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

has been retained in the same posi-
tion, since General Gordon's death, by
General Stephen D. Lee.

On February 22, 1866, he married
Miss Florence Herring, of Qarksville.
Four children, all living, have blessed
this union.

Mr. Faxon is a deep student of
commercial and economic questions,
and is in great demand as a speaker
at banking and financial conventions.
His interests are widely distributed
throughout the State and with his fami-
ly he travels extensively, but his home
is in Chattanooga, where he is a rul-
ing elder in the Presbyterian church,
a trustee of Erlanger Hospital and
treasurer of the Chattanooga His-
torical Societv.

JOHN W. FAXON

the Mayflower in 1620, and on his
father's side from Revolutionary sol-
diers. His father, Charles Faxon, a
writer of merit, was at one time in
his early life a writer for the Hart-
ford Courant, now the oldest paper in
the United States.

John W. Faxon received his educa-
tion at the Masonic College and Stew-
art College (now the Southwestern
Presbyterian University) at Clarks-
ville. He was the first Treasurer of
this University, a position he held for
about ten years, and for two terms was
President of its Alumni Association.

He is a member of the following or-
ders: "Masonic," "Society of the
Mayflower Descendants," "The Or-
der of the Founders and Patriots of
America" and the "Sons of the Ameri-
can Revolution." He is also a mem-
ber of "N. B. Forrest Camp No. 4,
C. S. Veterans," of which organization
he has been twice elected Lieutenant
Commander and Historian, having
served throughout the earlier duration
of the Civil War. He was a Colonel
and Aide-de-Camp on the staff of Gen-
eral John B. Gordon, commander of
the United Confederate Veterans, and

Charles James Faulkner, lawyer,
jurist, statesman, was bom in Martins-
burg, Berkeley County, Virginia (now
West Virginia), September 21, 1847.
His father, Charles James Faulkner,
Sr., represented Virginia in the Sen-
ate of the United States, and in 1859
was appointed Minister to the Court
of France. Young Charles accom-
panied his father, and attended school
in Paris and Switzerland until the

CHARLES J. FAULKNER

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MEN OF AFFAIRS

opening of the Civil War, when they
returned to the United States, espous-
ing the cause of the Confederacy. The
son, then fifteen, was placed in school
at Virginia Military Institute, at Lex-
ington, but the battle of Xew Market
made soldiers of the cadets, and Mr.
Faulkner was in active service from
then on, serving as aide to General J.
C. Breckinridge, and afterwards to
General Henry A. Wise, surrender-
ing with that officer at Appomattox.
On his return to his home he studied
under the direction o.' his father un-
til October, 1866,
when he entered
the University of
Virginia, graduat-
ing in June, 1868,
and being admit-
ted to the bar the
following S e p-
tember. After
twelve years of
extensive practice,
he was elected
Judge of the Thir-
teenth J u d i cial
Circuit of West
Virginia, com-
posed of the
Counties of Jef-
ferson, Morgan
and Berkeley, and
in 1887 was elect-
ed to the United
States Senate on
the Democratic^

ticket to succeed ike t.

Johnson N. Cam-
den. He wa^ re-elected in 1893, and
when the Democratic party controlled
the United States Senate was Chair-
mittee on Territories
le was also the or-
ler of the contest in
St the passage of the
I Bill when it was de-
Senator Gorman, of
3ne of the most ac-
e defeat of the Force
Bill, speaking at one period of the con-
test, at the request of his party, from
10 p.m. until 10 a.m. the next day,
this being necessary to meet a move

of the Republicans, which would have
forced a vote on the main question,
which if it had succeeded at the time
would have carried the bill. During
his senatorial terms Judge Faulkner
served on the Judiciary, Appropria-
tions, District of Columbia, Pacific
Railroads, Territories, Indian Depre-
dations, Claims and other important
committees. He is a member of the
bar of the Supreme Court of the
United States ; member of the Ameri-
can Society of International Law ; Na-
tional Geographic Society; Committee
of One Hundred
of the American
Association for
the Advancement
of Science; is a
Trustee of the
Alumni Endow-
ment Fund of the
University of Vir-
ginia ; was perma-
nent Chairman of
the Democratic
State Convention
of West Virginia
in 1888, and was
both temporary
and permanent
Chairman of the
Democratic State
Convention in
1892; was Chair-
man of the Demo-
cratic Congres-
sional Campaign
PRYOR Committee in 1894

and 1896; ap-
pointed a member of the joint com-
mission of the two Houses of Con-
gress to investigate the question of
the price of railway mail transporta-
tion and postal-car service, and all
sources of revenue and expenditures
of the Post Office Department, under
Act of Congress approved June 13,
1898; and appointed a member of the
International Joint High Commission
of the United States and Great Brit-
ain for the adjustment of differences
in respect to the Dominion of Can-
ada, on September 19, 1898. Since
retiring from public life Judge Faulk-

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tHE TAYLOR.TROTWCX)D MAGAZINE

ncr has devoted his time to the prac-
tice of his profession and to the man-
agement of his large agricultural in-
terests in West Virginia.

An orphan at six, a newsboy in the
Army of the Cumberland at ten, wit-
nessing the battles of Murfreesboro
and Chickamauga and a farmer's
helper, working for his board and such
schooling as could be had — such was
the fortune of Ike T. Pryor's early
years. He was born in Florida in
1852 and at the close of the war
found a home with Tennessee rela-
tives, and for the next six years the
boy did a man's work under the dis-
advantages of the reconstruction pe-
riod. When he was eighteen he de-
termined to try his fortunes in Texas
and that great state, teeming then,
as. now, with opportunities for am-
bitious, industrious men, proved the
best field for his talents and has
claimed his allegiance ever since. Be-
ginning as a ranch hand at fifteen
dollars a month, he worked his way
through the successive steps of trail
hand, driver and foreman to that of
manager. This was in the days of
"free grass" when the whole boundless
West was a grazing ground for Texas
cattle, which were driven slowly in
great herds from pasture to pasture.
Cowboy life in those days was pic-
turesque and vivid and every day
brought buflfalo hunts, Indian fights
or mix-ups with other herds. Mr.
Pryor, in a recent speech before the
Trans-Mississippi Commercial Con-
gress at Kansas City, thus truly char-
acterized cattle men : "Those who fol-
low this business are broad in their

views, brave and chivalrous in their
natures, asking only from others that
which they would be willing to g^nt
under similar circumstances."

In 1877 he began driving cattle on
his own account and during the next
few years, in partnership with an old-
er brother, he increased his herds,
driving them to Colorado and Kan-
sas and selling them there. As the
net profits on cattle at that time
ranged from three to five dollars a
head, the Pryor brothers accumulated
a large fortune, which they invested
in ranch property and more cattle.
The disastrous winter of 1884 and
1885 swept away this fortune, and the
subsequent building of railroads and
introduction of barbed wire fences cut
off the enormous profits in cattle.
Mr. Pryor then confined his attention
to his ranch in North Texas and be-
gan to work with the Texas Cattle
Raisers' Association to promote cattle
interests under these new conditions.
He also became interested in the pro-
motion and management of the Evans-
Snider-Buel Company, cMie of the
largest live stock commission com-
panies in the world. Notwithstand-
ing this connection with the buying
market, he was elected, in 1906, to
the presidency of the Cattle Raisers'
Association, his ten years of work in
their interests having proven his abili-
ty to adjust matters equably, and in
1907 was unanimously elected by a
rising vote to succeed himself. Mr.
Pryor holds oflice in several other live
stock associations, has banking and
property interests in the Indian Ter-
ritory, Missouri and Kansas and
makes his home in San Antonio.

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SOME SOUTHERN SCENES

SMALL CRAFT ENGAGED IN THE TRUCK AND FRUIT TRADE ON THE SOUTH ATLANTIC COAST

THE EVERGLADES, FLORIDA, WHICH ARE TO BE RECLAIMED

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42 The tAYLOR-TROtWOOD MAGAZINE

COCOANUTS GROWING IN THE SOUTH.

SHEEP ON A VIRGINIA PLANTATION NEAR NORFOLK, VA.

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CHAPTER VIII— Continued

She gave a low exclamation of as-
tonishment as she tinrolled to view a
number of bank notes, mostly new,
and of small denominations — ones,
twos and fives. As Sophronia care-
fully fingered the bills, noting their
value and the number the roll con-
tained, her eyes opened wide with sur-
prise at the sight of so much money.

No wonder her neighbor had exer-
cised such caution in concealing his
treasure. Here was a larger amount of
money than she had ever imagined he
would possess. How had he ever
come into the ownership of such a
sum? Could he have stolen it, and
from whcwn ?

The girl hastily counted the bills.
^'Goodness!" she exclaimed. It was
ninety-five dollars in all — a small for-
tune indeed f6r a person in Judson's
situation. How came he with such
booty, for booty it must be, since he
had never been known to save a dollar
in his life, yet here was quite a snug
little fortune that had been acquired
by some unknown means.

As Sophronia puzzled over the mat-
ter, her eyes chanced to fall on the
scrap of paper in which the money
had been wrapped, and smoothing out
the paper, she slowly read the reward
offered by the President of the Tum-

, for any information
o the arrest and con-
aiders, whose recent
e were a menace to

was a solution to the
her brain ! Steve
re betrayed the raid-
ers, and this money was the larger
part of the spoils he had received. He
certainly could not have accumulated
such an amount otherwise, for his ill-
kept, sterile patch of ground scarcely
yielded a poor living.

As Sophronia sat looking first at the
money then at the printed reward, the
fear of detection suddenly came over
her. Whether it was ill-gotten gain,
or not, the money certainly was not
hers, and she had no right to thus
unearth it from its secret hiding place.
Suppose some one should discover her
in the act !

Alarmed at the mere thought, she
hastily wrapped the scrap of paper
around the money, and dropping the
roll in the jar, screwed on the lid and
reburied the treasure, taking care to
leave the place looking quite as she
had found it. Then she hasily quitted
the spot.

CHAPTER IX

Night.

The dark forms of a group of men
were brought out in sharp contrast
against the fitful light of a small brush-
wood fire built in a sheltered spot
among the hills.

A few faint stars dotted the moon-
less sky, and the night air was raw
with the frosty breath of late October.

Some of the men were sitting about
on scattered blocks of rejected stone,

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

left in the abandoned quarry years be-
fore when the abutment of a bridge
had been built over a small, swift
stream near by, but the ereat number
of raiders stood in careless attitudes
around the fire, talking or smoking.

"Captain's late," one of the men in
the foreground said.

"I heard the ring of Black Devil's
hoofs comin' up the hill just a mo-
ment ago," a raider answered.

As he spoke, he thrust a fresh sup-
ply of brush into the fire, and briskly
stirred the bed of embers until it
glowed with sudden fervor, while a
shower of sparks arose and fluttered
into the night like a swarm of fire-
flies rudely disturbed.

"Be saving of the brush," cautioned
one of the raiders. "There may be
officers of the law abroad to-night."

"It is money to them if they bag us,"
answered the other, with an expressive
shrug of the shoulders and a hoarse
laugh. "There's a reward of two hun-
dred dollars offered for information
concerning the raiders, or night-riders,
as some folks call us."

"Perhaps some one's after it," sug-
gested another.

"And what good 'd the reward be?
It would melt or bum where we'd
send him."

"Is it the gate at the stone bridge
to-night?"

"No, I have heard it's to be another
—one more familiar to some of our
members," the speaker continued, cast-
ing a furtive glance at a number of the
band standing near.

"Suppose it should be the pole of
the New Pike gate, and Milt was chos-
en to do the cutting?" The man at the
fire spoke tauntingly.

"The pole of the New Pike gate
won't be cut to-night, I'm thinking,"
said Derr quietly.

"Not if the Captain commands it?"

"No."

"Listen, you fellows — ^hear what this
man's sayin' !"

"And what's more to the point, I'm
willing to bet that he isn't going to
insist on me cutting it, either," added
Derr, glancing about him with a half-

defiant air in which there was also
the suggestion of a threat.

Quickly the attention of the others
was drawn to the speaker, who had un-
consciously straightened to his full six
feet, while the rich color in his cheeks,
augmented by the ruddy glow of the
firelight, deepened perceptibly, and
quickly spread to his throat and neck,
which were partly revealed in their ro-
bust outlines, where the heavy coat was
thrown back to the warmth of the fire.

"Any special reasons for not wantin'
to cut down the pole of the New Pike
gate?" asked one of the band, with a
wink on the sly at his companions.

"I have," answered Milt frankly and
seriously. "One good reason I will
state a little later, the other can be
given right now. It seems a cow-
ardly thing to do— the chopping down
of a gate that's kept by two lone
women. Now if it was a man, the
case would be altogether different."

"It ain't the women folks we've got
the grudge ag'in," spoke up one of
the men. "It's the graspin' turnpike
companies back of 'em we're after."

"Yes, but it's taking away the liv-
ing of two worthy women," protested
Derr.

"That can't be helped, though," ar-
gued the other raider. "If we're g6-
in' to do away with toll-gates, an' have
free roads, we can't play favorites, you
know, by cuttin' down some poles,
an' leavin' others standin', just on ac-
count o' family relations," he said.

"What's the talk ?" The deep voice
came from the outer gloom, and as
the men glanced in its direction, the
captain emerged from the shadows
hovering close about the circle and
joined the group.

An embarrassing silence fell sud-
denly upon the company, at the lead-
er's presence, and each man waited for
his neighbor to make reply. As no
one seemed inclined to answer, finally
Derr spoke.

"It was concerning the New Pike
gate. Some one suggested that I
would be chosen to do the cutting of
the pole."

"Well !" The captain fixed his steel

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

cold eyes full on the speaker, while
the semblance of a sarcastic smile hov-
ered about his mouth.

"I have good and sufficient reasons
for not wanting to cut down that
pole, and especially if I was called
upon to-night," continued the speaker
quietly, his eyes meeting the captain's
gaze unflinchingly.

"Have your reasons been ,caHed
for ?" demanded the leader with a con-
temptuous curl of the lip.

"Among other reasons," continued
Derr, ignoring the question, "I don't
see the need of disturbing that gate
for the present, when so many others
around here mig^t claim our atten-
tion."

The little groups merged into a large
one, and general attention was quick-
ly centered in the two men, for trou-
ble seemed brewing in this quarter.
As they stood face to face, eyeing
each other keenly and coolly, the
spirit of unfriendliness that had long
held a place in each bosom was plain-
ly evident, and a clashing of strong
wills appeared imminent. There had
ever been a feeling of rivalry, dating
far back to the days they had gone
to school together in Alder Q-eek
Glen, and pretty little Sally Brown
was the figurative apple of discord be-
tween the two.

"His reasons for not wanting that
gate disturbed may not be hard to
guess," said the captain, a sneer lin-
gering on his heavy lips. "He's in
love with the pretty toll-taker."

"And the captain's rather sore be-
cause she's jilted him," retorted Derr
in clear, deliberate tones.

The leader's face flushed crimson
with anger at the words that carried
with them the sting of truth, and a
look of hatred blazed for an instant
in his eyes as he turned them full
on the speaker, standing calm and
disdainful, meeting the look fear-
lessly. ,

Perhaps this utter lack of fear de-
terred the captain from his first im-
pulse, for he knew that to press his
adversary further at this moment
meant a speedy settlement of old

scores. Jade Beddow was not ready for
such a course just yet, indeed he knew
a better plan of revenge, so with strong
effort he managed to control the rage
that filled him, and to bring himself
to a more fitting realization of his
present course of conduct.

"We haven't met to-night to settle
personal grievances," he said, letting
his eyes slowly wander to the men
surrounding him. "These can be left
to another time an' place. Our busi-
ness to-night is to strike another blow
for our just cause, and the New Pike
gate is the one to go down. Let those
who are not cowards follow me. To
your horses, boys 1"

CHAPTER X

A little before eight o'clock, while
the young girl was still busied in the
kitchen with the supper dishes, for on
court days this meal was always a late
one. Squire Bixler again passed
through the New Pike gate on his way
to town.

Sally's mother raised the gate for
him, and curious to know the cause
of his speedy return, straightway be-
gan to ply him with questions. When
she came into the house after he had
ridden on, the seal of secrecy being
the price Aht Squire required of her
for the information he had imparted,
she heaved so deep a sigh, and looked
so full of melancholy forebodings that
her daughter quickly inquired the
cause.

"Nothin'," answered the old woman
evasively, but the tone and her ac-
tions suggested quite the contrary.
Indeed, her face bore the unmistaka-
ble impression of an impending dis-
aster. The girl's curiosity was at
once aroused and piqued by her hioth-
er's bearing and words.

"But there is certainly something
troubling you," insisted Sally. "You
look quite put out."

"Well," admitted the other grudg-
ingly, "perhaps I am."

"Then what's the matter?"

"I'm under solemn promise not to
tell anybody, not even you, but when

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

a person don't know what minute
they're liable to lose* the very shelter
over their heads, it's high time for dis-
mal looks I should say."

"Are we in any such danger?" asked
the girl quickly.

"I'm not sayin' as we air or ain't,"
yet the speaker gave a most gloomy
shake of her head along with the non-
commital answer.

"But you act like something se-
rious was the matter."

"I can't well help showin' what's on
my mind, I suppose."

"Then why on earth don't you say
what's troubling you ?"

"When you're told a thing, an' then
told positively not to tell it, how is a
person to do?" asked Mrs. Brown in
dire perplexity. Her pledge to the
squire was already beginning to weigh
heavily upon her.

"I don't see why you hesitate to
tell me," said Sally emphatically;
"I'm not a child that can't be trusted
with a secret."

"I don't see the harm myself in
your knowin' it," acknowledged her
mother, "and that, too, when you'd
be sure to find it out in a mighty
little while, for as soon as the guards
come, you'd know that somethin' was
wrong."

"The guards?" echoed the girl.
"Then it's something about the raid-
ers?"

"I didn't say," answered her mother
with exasperating evasiveness.

"But it is," cried the girl. "Sure-
ly I've quite as much right to know
as you. Don't it concern me equally
as much ?"

"Of course, but then the squire
didn't seem to want to make you un-
easy any sooner than was necessary.
That's why he cautioned me about tell-
in' you, I suppose."

"And very thoughtful it was of him,
too," declared the girl with shrewdly
feigned graciousness. "So it was the
squire that told you about the raiders ?"

"Yes, and it goes to prove how
much he really thinks of you, not to
want you worried."

"That's true," the girl's manner took

on a careless indiflfcrencc, "He was
speaking to me the other day about
the raiders; what did he have to say
to you ?" she asked in an off-hand way
that threw the mother quite off guard
for the moment.

"He was sayin' that he feared you'd
be badly frightened if you knew the
raiders would be here to-night."

"To-night?" cried the girl excited-
ly, no longer acting a part.

"There! I've gone and let the cat out
of the bag, after all !" exclaimed Mrs.
Brown in sudden contrition. "You
partly guessed it, though. I didn't
tell you out and out." She came a
little closer to Sally, while her voice
dropped to a tragic whisper. "Yes,
the raiders air comin' this very night."

"How does he know?"

"He didn't tell me, but he's found
out somehow."

"What will become of us?" cried
her hearer in genuine apprehension.

"Dear knows !" answered her moth-
er melting into tears at the thought
of the impending raid. "We'll likely
have the roof burned over our very
heads, and to-morrow will find our-
selves without a shelter."

"Well, there, don't worry!" urged
the girl, touched by her mother's evi-
dent distress of mind. "There's an-
other shelter been offered us, if the
worst comes to the worst."

"Whose?" questioned Mrs. Brown
quickly, for the moment forgetful of
impending danger in the thirst for
further knowledge of this generous of-
fer. "Has the Squire offered us a
home?" she questioned eagerly, eye-
ing her daughter askant.

"Yes, he has," acknowledged the
girl with a little show of hesitation;
"not that I mean to accept it," she
added to herself, with a pretended flare
of courage that was far from real.
"What does the Squire think the raid-
ers will be apt to do?" she questioned,
returning to the primary subject un-
der discussion.

"He don't intend they shall do us
any harm if he can help it. He's gone
to town now to get men to come an'
guard the gate, an' he hopes to ketch

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

the last one of them lawless raiders be-
fore momin*, " declared the elder toll-
taker.

**I hope not!" cried the girl impul-
sively as a sudden fear crossed her
brain.

"You hope not?" repeated Mrs.
Brown in open-eyed wonder, turning
on her daughter in quick wrath. "Is
Milt Derr one of them night riders
that you talk like that, Sally Brown?"

"Of course not, mother, else they
wouldn't be coming here,'* answered
Sally with quick wit to repair the slip
of her tongue. "I mean on account
of the trouble it would bring to a lot
of innocent people," she hastened to
explain. "Of course these raiders
have friends and kinfolks, likely some
of 'em acquaintances of ours up in the
hills. Besides, the raiders think
they're mightily down-trodden and op-
pressed, for toll-rates are high, there's
no denying the fact."

"Sally Brown! I'm downright
ashamed of you, that I am!" cried her
mother sharply. "The idea of you
takin' up for them miserable law-
breakers, an' them tryin' to bum the
very roof over our heads, an' take
the daily bread out of our mouths.
You must have gone clean daft."

"I didn't say I thought they were
right," persisted Sally. "I said it
likely seemed so to them."

"An' you got no cause to say even
that," insisted Mrs. Brown, "you,
that's dependin' on a livin' by takin'
of the toll. It's nothin' short of
downright treason!"

CHAPTER XI

The girl had been dreading just
such news as her mother had revealed,
yet since the conversation with the
Squire the day Sally had so unwill-
ingly ridden with him from town, she
had been hourly expecting it. Now
that the ill news had really come, her
present uneasiness was not altogeth-
er on her mother's account, nor her
own. It was probable that her sweet- .
heart was now affiliated with the band

of raiders, yet if this was true, it
seemed a little strange that the New
Pike gate was the one to be at-
tacked.

When Sally sat down to her sewing
a little later, after her various house-
hold duties had been attended to for
the evening, her thoughts were very
far removed from her present work,
and she was much more troubled and
perplexed in spirit and mind than she
cared to show.

At the time she had heard the talk
between the Squire and his unknown
informant, it was evident that Milton
Derr had not then joined the raiders,
but from the trend of that conversa-
tion it seemed likely he would soon be-
come a member of the band. He was
evidently debating the feasibility of
joining them. Had he done so, and
was he now powerless to change or
divert their plans ?

It was not alone the news that the
gate would be attacked which was
troubling the girl, but the further in-
formation her mother had given that
the plans of the raiders were known,
and the Squire was even then in town
organizing a posse to resist the attack
and capture the band.

Supposing her sweetheart was now a
member of it, and some subtle intui-
tion was urging her to such belief,
what would be the outcome of it all?
This then was the trap the Squire was
adroitly laying for his nephew. She
had warned Milt of the danger, but
had he heeded ? The band was proba-
bly composed of men he knew well,
and was doubtless gathered from the
ready material to be found among the
rugged hills wherein he dwelt.

There had ever seemed to exist
among these people a certain wild
spirit of adventure and reckless dar-
ing, which one naturally imbibed along
with the very air of these free remote
hills, and the Squire's nephew was of
that restive nature too easily attracted
by anything savoring of excitement or
danger, such as these lawless escapades
might readily furnish.

On recalling a talk she had held

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with her sweetheart the Sunday even-
ing before, when they rode together
from Alder Creek meeting-house, she
felt that her very own words may
have had some weight in influencing
him to cast his fortunes with the raid-
ers. Though she warned him of such
a course, yet in almost the same breath
she told him of the Squire's predicticm
that the New Pike gate would be
wrecked, leaving her mother and her-
self homeless, but she wiselv said noth-
ing about the Squire's offer of mar-
riage, deeming it prudent to remain
silent on this point for the present, at
least.

She had appealed to the nephew to
do what he could to prevent the de-
struction of the New Pike gate, and
had meant to enlist his aid only so
far as the exercising of his influence
over any personal friends who might
belong to the band of raiders.

As things now stood, a great dan-
ger lay in the fact that the posse of
men now being gathered together in
town, would probably make speedy
war on those who threatened destruc-
tion to the gate. There would doubt-
less be fighting, some might be killed,
wounded or taken prisoners, and her
sweetheart was as liable to be among
the first as the latter, if he were a
raider. What great relief it would be
at this moment to know that he was
not connected with those who had
lately declared warfare on the toll-
gates throughout the country !

If she could but manage to see him,
even for a brief moment, a simple
word of warning might avert serious
trouble. There was still left her a
faint chance for such warning to be
given, for Milton Derr had gone to
town that morning, and she had not
seen him return, though it might be
that he had passed the gate on his
homeward way, while she was busied
with her household duties.

She felt a g^wing eagerness to
know if her mother had seen him pass,
yet dared not ask. Finally she de-
cided on a little subterfuge.

"Dear me!" she cried, suddenly
pausing in her work and glancing at

her mother inquiringly, "I forgot to
send Phrony that skirt pattern she
asked me to hunt for her. Has every
one passed living up that way?"

"I s'pose they have," answered Mrs.
Brown gnmipily.' "It's gettin' late,
an' if the country folks ain't at home
by now, they oughter be."

The girl made a show of hunting
up the pattern, then sat down with it
and her sewing near the front door.

Several belated travelers passed,
some rather the worse for having im-
bibed too freely of the cup that cheers,
but the one she wished to see was not
among them. Along toward nine
o'clock a small party of horsemen came
galloping along the pike, loudly halloo-
ing and firing their pistols as they
came, and for a moment the girl
thought the raiders were surely at
hand.

Then quickly-realizing that the cav-
alcade was coming not from the direc-
tion of the hill country, but the town,
and that the night was yet too
young for raiders to be abroad, she
understood that it was merely a drunk-
en crowd on their homeward way,
therefore she hurried out and raised
the pole, then fled into the house and
blew out the light, as the horsemen
went dashing by, in a volley of shouts
and oaths, like a miniature whirlwind.

Just as the clock was striking nine,
and when her mother had once more
fallen asleep after her recent rude
awakening, the girl's attentive ear
caught the sound of a horse's familiar
tread, and tiptoeing lightly out on
the platform, she softly closed the
door behind her and awaited the rider.

She was not at fault in her sur-
mise, for the horseman was the one
she had hoped to see, and at her low
summons he rode close up to the plat-
form where she stood, all impatient
to divulge her message.

"I thought you'd never come, or
else that you had already passed the
gate without me seeing you!" cried
Sally in an eager undertone when he
drew rein.

"I would certainly have started ear-

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

lier if I'd known you were waiting/*
answered the rider contritely.

"Did you know we are expecting
the raiders to pay us a visit to-night ?'*
she asked hurriedly, coming at once to
the point.

"Pay this gate a visit?" queried Milt
in genuine surprise that proved her
words news to him.

"Yes."

"Are you quite sure about that?" he
asked thoughtfully. "How do you
know it's to be this gate?"

"The Squire came by on his way to
town only a little while ago, and told
mother. He's gone now to raise a
posse of men to guard the gate."

"Here's trickery," thought Milt. "I
was led to believe it was to be some
other gate for to-night's raid, or else
I've got things badly mixed. The
Squire said it was this gate ?" he add-
ed aloud.

"That's what he told mother. I
didn't see him. You musn't ever tell
that I told you, never !" she insisted.

"I never will," he declared fervently.
"And how did the Squire know about
it ?" he added thoughtfully.

"I don't know, likely from the man
who is acting the spy for him."

"I wonder who that man can be ?"

"I don't know, but the Squire's got
somebody in his pay who is not only
spying on the raiders but on you also.
He's acting a double part."

"And you say the gate is to be
guarded to-night?"

"Yes, the guards will be here soon."

"Well, perhaps that may scare the
raiders away," said the young man re-
assuririgly. "I'm awful glad you told
me about it." ,

"I thought you ought to know," said
Sally in a low tone, "for perhaps you
have friends that might be interested
in such news."

"This gate shall never be molested
as long as I can do anjrthing to prevent
it," said Milton Derr earnestly, bend-
ing sideways until his arm encircled
the waist of the pretty toll-taker on
the platform; "and if it ever is, you
can understand that I am powerless
to save it Good night, sweetheart !"

CHAPTER XII

The girl stole quietly into the toll-
house after her lover had ridden away
toward the misty hills. She found her
mother still sleeping soundly in her
chair, quite oblivious of surroundings,
and little dreaming that the secret the
Squire had i^ged her to keep so se-
curely had reached a third pair of ears
already in its swift joumeyings.

Catching up her sewing again,
which she had quickly dropped on the
floor in her eagerness to see the be-
lated rider, 5ally began to sew away
industriously to make up for lost time,
while her thoughts flew a good deal
faster than her needle.

Her surcharged mind was now hap-
pily relieved of a portion of its bur-
den of fears. There was no longer
any danger threatening her sweetheart,
so far as the present intended raid was
concerned, and possibly this itself
would fail of fruition.

Soon after ten o'clock the sheriff
and a posse of armed men appeared.

"You keep late hours. Miss Sally,"
he said when she and her mother came
out to receive them. "I expected to
find you both asleep."

"Not when we are expecting com-
pany," the girl answered with a laugh
that was somewhat forced; "that
wouldn't be good manners, you
know."

"It's no use to go to bed," insisted
Mrs. Brown. "I couldn't sleep a wink,
not if my life depended on it, that I
couldn't." Sally smiled faintly,
thinking of the recent long nap her
mother had taken, and of the warn-
ing that had been given, quite un-
known to the sleeper, thanks to this
period of oblivion.

"I do hope none of you will get
hurt I" cried the girl in deep concern.
"It seems dreadful to think that per-
haps before morning a very battle may
be fought right around this quiet
spot."

"Don't be alarmed," the shcriflf m-
sisted. "I look for little trouble or
bloodshed * either."

"No more do I," thought the pretty

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toll-taker, with a secret satisfaction she
admirably concealed.

"I expect to take the rascals so com-
pletely by surprise they will have a
chance to make but little resistance/'
the officer continued reassuringly, for
the girl's apparent fear appealed to
him. "Perhaps we may be able to
capture the whole band without loss of
a single man."

A feeling almost bordering on res-
ignation had gradually supplanted the
disturbed condition of Mrs. Brown's
mind since her daughter's reassuring
confession that the Squire had placed
a shelter at their disposal, in case the
raiders deprived them of the one they
now had. • She began to feel that the
threatened calamity might, after all,
take on the characteristics of a dis-
guised blessing, since it would help to
bring to a climax a state of affairs
she had long striven, though unsuc-
cessfully, to mold to her purpose, and
that through the raiders the Squire
might also manage to get him a wife,
which, up to the present moment at
least had proven a most elusive quan-
tity.

With the coming of the posse to
guard the gate, Mrs. Brown's spirits
took on almost a jubilant turn, for
though the raiders might fail in their
present venture, they would ultimately
succeed in the destruction of the New
Pike gate, and its doom would proba-
bly not be far distant, in spite of of-
ficers or guard, while the price of its
downfall would be the speedy realiza-
tion of the mother's fondest dreams
concerning her daughter's future.

"We might just as well lay down
on the outside of the bed, dressed as
we are," said Mrs. Brown, as she led
the way into the house, after the men
had been placed on guard. "It's no
use stayin' up, though, of course, I
don't expect to close my eyes the en-
tire night, for nobody can tell what
may take place before momin'."

"The raiders may not come, after
all," ventured Sally, hoping to allay
her mother's evident fears, "though,
as you say, it's just as well to look
presentable, in case we should be

turned out of house and home in the
middle of the night." She gave a
covert glance in the small looking glass
on the tall dresser as she spoke.

"There's at least one that will not
be captured to-night, whether he is a
raider, or whether he isn't, and the
Squire may find that his traps are not
as carefully set as he thinks," said
the girl to herself as she blew out the
light, and lay down.

The incidents of the past few days
came crowding confusedly through her
brain as she lay thinking over the
many entanglements that seemed tight-
ening their meshes closer and closer
about her.

As the night grew on apace, a sug-
gestive sound by her side proclaimed
that her mother had fallen asleep, de-
spite all predictions of a watchful vigil,
and as the girl lay and listened to the
droning monotone, it finally lulled her
into forgetfulness and slumber.

Darkness and silence hovered over
the New Pike gate, and while its in-
mates slept on through threatened dan-
ger, others were yet awake and watch-
ful along the opposite side of the road,
their alert and crouching figures hid-
den in the gloom of the sheltering
stone wall as the guard impatiently
awaited the coming of the raiders.

CHAPTER XIII

At the captaifi's arrogant words,
flung at Derr in the wake of a scorn-
ful laugh, the raiders began to move
slowly in the direction of a near-by
cedar thicket darkening the entrance to
the quarry. At this spot the horses
were hitched, guarded by a member of
the band, who at the same time guard-
ed the approach to the rendezvous.

Milton Derr stood motionless, silent
and defiant, with tightly compressed
lips, and in his dark eyes a vengeful,
half exultant light.

Should he let them go unwarned?
This was an easy and speedy way to
even up with Jade Beddow for his
insulting words, and his intended blow
to Derr through the downfall of the
New Pike gate.

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

Silence on the part of his enemy
would surely bring harm this night to
the captain of the band, and also to
the raiders themselves, yet many of
these were Milt's friends^ and must
not be sacrificed to his own hot anger
and hatred of one man. This were
cowardly. It was his duty to speak
out plainly for their sakes. Under-
standing this, he made a sudden move
forward, and called out sharply :

"Listen to what I have to say !"

As the men looked back he raised
his hand wamingly. "The captain has
given you his reascms as to why I
have so frankly spoken against raid-
ing the New Pike gate to-night, now
I will give you mine."

He paused a moment and looked
around on the waiting crowd.

"It's because the plans of the night-
riders have been found out, and a
posse of men are now waiting at the
gate to give a warm welcome to those
who come."

At his words a sudden confusion fell
among his listeners, as when a bomb
is exploded in the ranks. The men
stood irresolute, alarmed, looking first
at the captain, then toward the
spokesman, whose tall dark figure
loomed up against the background of
gray rock dimly outlined by the ex-
piring fire.

The captain hesitated, uncertain
what move to make; then he came
back a few steps to where Derr stood.

"How do you know this ?" he asked
sharply.

"I know it," answered the other
quietly, "and that's enough."

"But how do you know it ? Who told
you ?" The l^der grew msistent.

Derr compressed his lips and made
no answer.

The captain gazed at him steadfastly
some moments, then turned abruptly
toward his men.

"You have heard what he says, boys,
that our plans are found out, and die
gate under guard. If this is true,
there's a traitor in our midst, and this
is his work."

A deep silence followed these sug-
gestive wor^s. The men glanced fur-

tively at one another, as if a sudden
distrust had arisen, specter-like,
among them. The band separated
into little groups and fell to talking in
low tones among themselves, with
now and then a suspicious lock shot
in Milton Derr's direction, but he stood
silent and impassive, a little apart
from the others, seemingly oblivious
of these glances, or of the words to
which they gave rise.

"This may be only a hatched up tale
to scare us oflf," suggested the cap-
tain at last, looking inquiringly around
him.

"Remember, I have given you all
fair warning," Milt said quietly, look-
ing beyond the leader to where the
men stood in scattered groups.

"Who is your authority for this re-
port?" the captain once more
asked.

"I learned it, that is all you need
to know."

"When did you hear it?"

"In time to warn you."

The captain turned away with an
impatient gesture and a muttered
oath. "Perhaps it wouldn't be a hard
matter to tell how the toll-gate peo-
ple learned of it," he said with mean-
ing emphasis in his tone. ^

"There may be something in this,
after all, so what's the use of running
into danger when you can steer clear
of it?" asked one of the raiders. "The
New Pike gate will keep till another
time."

"But if there's a traitor in our midst,
what other time is so safe for us ?" the
leader interrogated. "The only course
before us is to strike now and as often
as we can, guards or no guards. For
my own part I don't believe the gate
is guarded."

A warm discussion arose among the
men, and hot words were bandied to
and fro. A few favored the postpone-
ment of the intended raid. Several,
along with the captain, were inclined
to discredit the story that the gate
was under guard, and the majority
advocated a bold assault, even in the
face of danger, which served to lend
a certam zest to the act.

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Through it all Milton Derr stood si-
lent, and offered no advice.

"Well ! what shall we do, boys — go
or not?" asked the leader impatiently.

"Put it to a vote."

"Agreed I" the leader answered.
"All who favor making the raid, step
to the right. How many of you?
Twenty. A fine showing, my trusty
lads ! Cowards are in the minority to-
night. If one goes, all should go.
Only a traitor would hesitate. To
your horses !"

"Free roads! Down with the toll-
gates!" The cry arose in a hoarse
howl as the men moved quickly in
the direction of their horses.

Derr stood hesitating, abashed and
vanquished. If he now refused to go
along with the -others it was but the
signing of his own death warrant, and
the invoking of swift punishment. He
would be proclaimed a traitor, branded
as one. Rather would he run the risk
of getting killed by the officers of the
law than thus incur the enmity of the
band, and perhaps suffer the penalty
of a traitor's deed.

By his presence he might still be of
some benefit to the inmates of the toll-
house threatened, and possibly through
the influence of friends among the
raiders the building might be spared
and only the pole cut down.

If the captain persisted in venting
his anger and spite on a couple of
helpless and defenseless women, and
was fully determined to bum the New
Pike gate, and make a repetition of the
Cross Roads affair then — Milt's hand
unconsciously grasped the handle of
his pistol — ^the band might be speedily
called upon to elect a new leader.

Milt slowly followed the raiders
down the hill and joined them at the
thicket. At a word from the captain
the cavalcade set out through the keen
frosty air, the clang of many hoofs on
the loose stones along the way echo-
ing amid the silent hills, and break-
ing sharply into the quiet of the night.
Now and then, a tiny trail of sparks
flashed beneath the flying iron shoes
like a nest of glow-worms scattered
into the darkness.

Around the base of frowning, tall,
uprising hills the raiders swept in a
swift gallop, now through gloomy
rock-bound ways, past quiet fmn-
houses, by fallow fields, following Ac
winding courses of the road that
trailed under the dim starlight like a
ribbon of mist between the silent,
opaque hills.

Still on and on the horsemen rode,
sometimes dropping into a slower gait,
then spurring their horses anew, with
never a jest as they rode along, nor a
fling of laughter or song to the dark-
ness — ^a shadowy, silent band with sug-
gestion of deep-set purpose in the omi-
nous quiet they maintained. When
at last they swung around the curve
of the pike and came in sight of the
New Pike gate, the captain drew rein
^d called a brief halt.

"Go forward!" he commanded, se-
lecting Derr for the mission.

"Let me go ! I'm not afraid !" has-
tily cried another member of the band,
a's Milton hesitated and seemed on the
point of refusing. It was Steve Jud-
son who spoke, and there was a touch
of eagerness in his voice as he made
the request.

"I have chosen the one to go," said
the leader sternly. "If the gate is
guarded, as he seems to think is the
case, he is on better terms with the
toll-takers an' their protectors than
any of us."

"Aw, let me go!" persisted Steve.
"That's alyvrays l^en my duty, an' I'm
not afraid to shirk it now. Send me
ahead!"

"You stay here!" commanded the
captain decisively. "I've got other
work for you when the time comes."

"Go forward!" the captain con-
tinued, addressing Milt. "If you find
the coast clear, ride on beyond the
gate, then signal us, an' guard the road
from that point."

"I have told you that I believe the
gate to be guarded," answered Den-
quietly. "I have warned you that it
was to be. Do you command me to
ride into almost certain danger?"

"If you know it to be guarded,
you stand in no danger from your

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

friends/* answered the leader coldly.
*'If we find you have betrayed us you
will stand in very great danger from
your enemies."

"I have not betrayed you, I have
<mly warned you," insisted Milt.

"Then you should be willing to share
the danger with us. A brave man
never fears danger if his duty demands
it. Go!"

"I will go, then, since you command
it. Remember, though, comrades," he
added, turning to the members of the
band who were nearest to him, "if I
fail to get back, my blood be upon this
man!"

He turned and rode quickly through
the darkness toward the New Pike
gate.

[To be continued]

OLD WASH AND THE NERVOUS

GOATS

I NEVER had much use for
goats," said Old Wash the oth-
er night, "an' I got less use for
'em now than ever. They may be as
good to eat as sheep to some people,
but when I hears a man say dat, ef
he's white, I looks for his head to be
all cymling and his foots all giblets,
an' ef he's black I looks for blue gums
an' wropped hair. Ever' now an' den,
dey gits up a goat craze in de South
an' dese city men whut edits farm pa-
pers in cities tells whut a pow'ful lot
uv money dey is in goats. After tell-
in' how dey eats up ever'thing nuthin'
else will tetch — not even barrin' a car-
ryon cro' — ^an' can live an' prosper on
a dry spot so nigh de wicked place
dat nutWn' else cu'd live dere wid col'
feet unless dey walked on stilts, dey
den proceeds to tell how fast dey can
prop-a-gait, which is a big word dey
uses to tell how soon an' nachuUy a
little sissy kid goat gits to be a nanny.
"It ain't often I drops into poetry,
but heah is de way I figures it out :

Two little goatscs, out in de sno'
Dey sits married an' den dar is fo'.
Fo' little goatscs longin' to mate.
Bare is de larder, but soon dar is eight
Eigfat Uttle goatses, weeds, an' no mo'—
Weeds is for true love an' now twenty-fo'.
Twenty-fo' goatses climbin' de gate,
Ewtt^whsLT dey oughtn't be— now eighty-
eight
Eighty-eigfat goatses, all in de com,
Still studyin' 'rithmetic — two hundred's
bora

Two hundred goatses on house top an'

tree—
Dey drops six hundred by de rule uv three !
Six hundred goatses, locustin' de land,
Living on lizards, love-knots and sand.
But sand is deir manna — dey marry ag'in,
Now sixteen million, nine hundred an* ten !

"Did you urver notice, Marse John,
de turrible hard slam de Bible gives
de goatses? An' when de Good Book
tags a thing it's dar for all eternity
an' warranted not to fade. Of all de
animules in de ark, snakes an' goatses
is de only things dat is imder de ban.
You know whut de snake done —
tempted Eve, an' de rest of us been
stayin' in after skule ever sense an'
takin' our spankin'. But de way it
throwed off on de goatses wuz wussur
still, fur it laid every low-down white-
livered thing that happened on de
goatses. Whenever a ole Jew had
done sumpin' specially low down' an'
wanted to He out uv it hisse'f, he'd rub
asserfeterty an' gypsy juice on some
goat an' start him th'oo de wilder-
ness. Dey call him a scapegoat be-
cause dey thought he orter be thank-
ful to 'scape wid his life, seein' he
kerried so many other fo'kses sins on
his back. An' de smalles' white man
in all history, in my 'pinion, is dat ole
'sateful, oily Abraham dat had thou-
sands uv goatses an' yet made a scape-
goat uv his own son an' turned him
out in de wilderness to die. I preaches
'gin him ever' chance I gits an' when

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I die I don't wanter go to no Abra-
ham's bosom. No, suh, I'd ruther
take my chances whar dars sum wool
an' a warm spot! Hit looks lak ole
'sateful Abraham cu'dn't keep away
from goatses — always doin' sum dev-
ilment an' layin' it on goatses. But a
man buys back ever rascally trick he
sells to others at las', in his own coin,
an' so ole Abraham got his back in a
goat. It wuz when dat boy Ikey uv
his'n fooled de ole man an' got Esau's
birthright 'cause Esau wuz nachully a
hairy one — (no wonder, his daddy had
goat on the brain all his life!) — ^an'
Ikey, who wuz smooth, he jes' put on
a goat skin an' made de ole man think
it wuz Esau. When he found it out
I'll bet he thort uv Hagar an' Ishmael
dat he played it so low down on.

"Oh, you kin jes' bet a man gits
whut he sows in dis worl'.

"When ole Abraham tried to turn
his little innocent but onregistered boy
into a scapegoat, he nurver thort his
big boy Ikey, so godly an' so circum-
sized, would bob up an' be de real
thing at last.

"Ole Abraham started de thing an'
all de others kep' it up an' all th'oo
de Good Book de sins uv de world is
laid on goatses. Dey even studied it
out fur de Jedgment day when dar'U
be a big separashun uv de sheep an' de
goatses, an' all sinners will be turned
into goatses. This allers struck me as
correct, for dere is jes' about dat much
difference 'twixt a game, ole, naughty,
bad-smellin' sinner an' a weak, no-
'count, sissy, bah-bah, goody-goody!

"An' it's all in favor uv de
goat!

**Es fur me, give me a goat over a
sheep ever' time. A goat smells bad
to some fo'ks, but he'll hustle for his
own, is dead game, don't complain,
'tends to his own business, ain't stuck
up an' is a pow'ful ladies' man. You
nurver heah of a goat-killin' dog — no,
sah, but I've seed a many a dc^-killin'
goat. An' de best way to save a
flock uv cowardly sheeps is to put a
few billies in amongst 'em. But a
sheep — de' thing we Christyuns is
picked out es emblem of all dat's good

an' holy, Marse John, it's a shame!
He's a meek-faced, flop-yeared fool,
so silly he'll jump into a bottomless
pit ef his nigh neighbor happen to fall
in, an' so cowardly any yaller cur can
chase an' kill de whole flock. Whilst
his big horns an' stiff neck is puttin'
up a bold game of bluff, his slinkin'
limber tail, floppin' betwixt his legs, is
doin' all it can to lie out of it! Dey
ain't got sense enuff to keep a crow
offen deir babes when bom, dey himts
fur all de soft spots in de pasture an'
dey quits to anything dat gits a good
holt on dey wool. Don't put up no
lamb on my tomb when I'm gone,
Marse John. If I've got to be pic-
tured an' disgraced as a animule an' a
nachur faker after I'm dead an' it's
a ch'ice 'twixt de goat an' de sheep,
carve for ole Wash a game ole goat,
wise unto salvershun, keepin' his own
council, speakin' no evil, stickin' to de
middle uv de road — sl good ole prop-a-
gaitin' populite, whiskers an' dl!

"Yassah!

"But I started out to tell about dem
nervus goatses. I lives down nigh
Marse George, an' he's got a flock uv
dem goats, dat run in de pasture wid
de fine mares. You know brood mares
nurver git sick if a goat stays among
'em, fur de smell uv de goat is so
servigrus, dat whenever a microbe uv
eny breed gits a good whiff uv it, he
des' gasps an' smiles an' dies, as de
poet sez uv de hero soljer. An' so
Marse George he keeps dem goats wid
his mares, an' do' he 'low us to go thoo
any other part uv de farm, he don't
'low nobody to make a common pass-
way thoo de paddock. But de other
Sunday es I went to preachin' I wuz
late, an' thinkin' Marse George would-
n't keer dis time I tuck a short cut
thoo de paddock. I seed de flock uv
goats an' de mares an' colts but I wuz
so busy wuckin' out my sermon, de
tex' of which was, *And he separated
de sheep frum de goats/ dat I run
ober a kid asleep in de grass befo' I
seed it. *Bah'bah,' sez de kid, jumpin'
up so sudden 'twixt my legs dat I
jumped two feet offen de groun'. Den
I gin him a kick when I hit de yearth.

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OLD WASH AND THE NERVOUS GOATS

clap my hands to make him run an'
seel, 'Bah'bah, yo'se^f!

"Wid dat ever' goat dar started to
run, but jes' hollered bah-bah an'
drapped dead !

"An' when I seed whut I'd done I
mighty nig^ done it myse'f .

"I started on a run fur de fence,
but looked back an' de groun' wuz
jes' kivered wid goats kickin' an' stif-
fenin' out an' dyin'. I 'spected to see
de mares an' colts timible nex' so I
makes a break over de fence an' over
de hills back home.

"No mo' sermon fur me dat day.
I'd seed all I wanted to see about
goatses, unless it wuz how to raise 'em
frum de dead.

"I kep' hid out all day, wonderin'
ef anybody seed me. All night I
dreamed uv goats— dreamed it wuz de
last great day, dat Marse George wuz
de great Jedge, an' when my time
come I wuz cast over among de
goatses. Dey had all des' riz to be
j edged, but at sight uv me dey all
drapt dead ag'in, jes' like dey did in
dc paddock, hoUerin' *No, bah-bdi, no.
He too mean to live wid us/

"Sho' nuff, at breakfus' heah cum
de sheriff, an' reads me a writ an' takes
me to de jestice cou't.

"I nurver had been 'rested befo'. I
wuz scandlized an' ruined, all by a
lot uv goatses. I axed *em to let me
see you, dat you'd go on my bond, but
dey dragged me befo' de squire.

"You nurver seed sich a trial ; ever'-
body wuz dar, an' de trouble I wuz in
seem to give generl satisfacshun. De
Majah he spoke ag'in' me, tellin' de
jestice dat I went into de paddock an'
kilt de whole flock uv goatses. 'He
WU2 so tarnal ugly dey all drapt dead
at sight uv him/ he say. He kep' dat
an' some mo' up fur a hour, an' he
had de whole cou'thouse, jedge an' all,
at-lafl&i' at me. I nurver seed fo'ks hab
so much fun an' I nurver felt so mean
an' low down. De Majah 'splains it
wuz a flock uv ve'y unusual goatses,
called Nervous Goats, an' dat dey wuz
wuth a hundred dollars apiece, an'
he figured out dat I owed Marse
George des' five thousand, six hun-

dred dollars an' de state pen two years
hard labor fur trespass !

"Wid dat I jes' gib up. I'd figured
dat ef it cimi to de wuss dey wuz
wuth 'bout two dollars each an' I
knowed I cu'd sell de filly an' pay dat.
But dis jes' mint me. I wanted to die.
I wuz willin' fur to sell all I had an'
pay up, but de Jedge sed I'd hafter
make a speech an' 'splain how it wuz
or he'd hafter gin jedg^ment fur de
amount an' hang me afterwards.
Hit looked lak dey wuz gwine to make
it es miser'bul fur me as dey cu'd so
I done de bes' I c'u'd wid a heavy
h'art.

" 'Marse Jedge an' Gen'lm'n,' sez I.
'I'm a ole nrgger, dat hab libed a godly
life gwine in an' comin' out befo' you,
an' nurver got into no trouble befo'
till I got tangled up wid dat ar lot uv
goatses in de paddock an' I think dis
wuz de same breed dat will be on de
Lord's lef han' at de jedgment mom.
Dey am na'chuUy de chillun uv dark-
ness an' dis heah wuz a put-up job on
me fur to make me furgit my sermon
an' do de debble a good turn. Gen'l'-
m'n, when dem goatses all drapped
dead on me, don't you kno' I wuz des'
as skeered as dey wuz, an' de only rea-
son I didn't drap too wuz because I
didn't stop rimnin' long enuff ? I wuz
in de same fix dat Marse Jack Reeves,
uv Hardeman County, wuz when he
got dmnk, missed his train an' wuz
put in de same bed by de landlord wid
a dead man dat had been laid out in
de hotel. 'Bout two o^:lock he got so-
ber enuff an' thirsty enuff to tsike no-
tice an' he heerd two young fo'ks talk-
in' sweet in de room an' de young man
wuz tryin' to kiss de gal. But she said,
'George, you mustn't try to kiss me
whilst we/re sittin' up wid a corpse/
an' den Marse Jack puts out his han'
an' feels to see who he is sleepin' wid
an' de face he teches wuz marble!
He wuz in his night clothes an' it
was a race 'twixt him an' de young
fo'ks as to which 'ud git to de open air
fust. But he 'lowed in de piece he
writ about it, dat he wuz des' es bad
skeered as dey wuz. Now dat's de
way it wuz wid me an' de goatses,

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

genTrn'ri, an' I think I got skecr cnuff
widout bein' fined an' saunt up.'

"Dis seem to tickle 'em mighty, an'
de jedge said dat defo' he would de-
cide he thort it jcs' an' right fur all
hands to go down to Marse George's
farm an' see jes' how many goatses I
did kiU.

'TDis kerried, an' dc sheriff hand-
cuffed me an' dey all tuck me down to
Ewell Farm, an' I felt 'bout de sheep-
killines' dog dat ever wuz. I seed 'em
all winkin' an' laughin' es dey went
along, an' me a-beggin' 'em to let me
go off an' die. We went to de pad-
dock an' dar wuz anurr flock of
goatses, 'zac'ly lak de CMies I'd kilt. I
looked at 'em 'stounded lak, fur I seed
I'd lef some seed goatses, an' know-
in' how dey prop-a-gaits, I jes' na'-
chully thort dey'd done all dat in two
days.

" 'Dar is a new flock,' sez de sher-
iff. 'Now, ole man, des' sho' us des'
how you did manage to kill all dem
other ones.'

" 'Gen'l'm'n,' sez I, 'I wuz comin'
'long right heah, a-wuckin' out my
sermon, an' right heah,' sez I, 'I steps
on a little goat entirely unbeknownst
to me, an' he skeers me so I jumped
twenty foot in de air, comin' right
back down on dat fool goat, dat didn't
do nufiin' but dance up an' down, hol-
lerin' bah-bah, an' tangled me up so
ever' time I step he'd be dar whar I
step at. "Bah'bah," sez he, still a-
dancin' 'twixt my legs. "Bah-bah, yo'-
se*//' sez I; "t/ you cayn't run, fur
Cord's sake git outen de way an' lem

me show you how/' an' den, geni'm'n,
so he'p he heab'n, I didn't do nuffin'
but jes' gin a big whoop an' clap my
hands like dis .'

"I heard 'em all shout wid fun, an'
I looks an' 'fore Gawd, I'd done it
ag'in— ever' goat dar had drapped
dead!

"I broke an' tried to run, dis time
to de creek to drown myse'f .

" 'Ketch him,' sed de Majah ; 'don't
you see he is dc ole debbil hisse'f?
Ketch him ; he's a witch.'

"I stood par'lyzed, beggin' 'em to
kill me an' den I seed one goat after
anurr kick awhile an' den git up es
solemn es deacons an' go to eatin'
grass es nachul es a grass widder 1

"I broke in a big laugh an' shouted
an' de squire sed:

" 'Resurrection mom. Wash — fust
man up fur a mint julipl'

"It wuz all fur fun an' dey had put
it up on de ole man scanlous, but de
aftermath wuz fine — a shady grove, a
good barbycue uv dat very lad dat had
skeered me so, watermillions an' mint
julip I

"But I nurver 'spects to heah dem
white fo'ks tell de las' uv it an'
nachuUy I keeps shy uv nervous
goatses an' nervous fo'ks uv all kind !"

[For fear Old Wash's friends will think
this stoiy of the nervous goats is all made
up, the Editor arises to say that the story
is true and that in a near issue of Taylor-
Trotwood there will be an account of this
remarkable natural freak called nervous
goats, with illustrations and a scientific ex-
planation of the cause of their peculiar
nervousness.]

PEPPER TAMES THE ZEBRA

A THUMB-NAIL SKETCH OF NEWSPAPER ROW

By Frank E. Anderson

PEPPER, last evening's go at
the Athletic was not a scrap.
It was a fake for points," ex-
claimed Mr. Mace, the Sporting Edi-
tor, turning toward newsboy Jimmie
Jones, whose fiery temper had earned
him this nickname. But frtckly-ftced

Jimmie was oblivious of O'Brien and
Fitzsimmons for the time being; he
was bobbing his red top-knot and
stamping his bare feet to the lively
strains of "Smoky Mokes," which the
band was playing up Pennsylvania ave-
nue as the wd of the circus procession

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PEPPER TAMES THE ZEBRA

passed — two baggy white and scarlet
clowns, leading a gray and black ani-
mal placarded: "$io to the Man,
Woman or Child Who Rides this Ze-
bra To-Night." The Sporting Editor
laughed. Then he thought of his own
childhood and sighed.

A half hour later he was in his
sanctum on the fifth floor at News-
paper Row. He had forgotten the
parade, and was typewriting a half-
column of fill-in on the race trades
at Benning's and St. Asaph's as educa-
tional centers for clerks who bet the
money of their employers for luck on
the horseshoe or a racer's hoof in
nu>tion, when he was startled into
temporary locomotor ataxia by Pep-
per, who whirled in, roaring out : "I'm
J. PierpcMit Morgan, but Mom
squeezes me till I can't take a fly at
any kind of stock. Lemme twenty-
five cents, an' if I win, we diwy."

Well, the Sporting Editor's weekly
pro-quod might have paid for ten
minutes' refreshments at the Raleigh.
With the important items of dri^s
and tobacco and car fare to meet, to
say nothing of incidentals, board and
lodging and clothes, he had no coin
to throw away. But, next after a hot
finish, he loved a boy with a game
streak — so Jimmie got his quarter.

♦ 4c 4c « 4^ ♦

"I dropped in," protested Pepper,
the next morning . . .

"Mix up in short-arm hooks and
jabs or you'll drop out," growled Mr.
Mace. "The Black Demon walloped
another chump beef-and-ale champion
in London yesterday, and I'm just
rooting up Denver Ed's previous
mills. . . ."

". . . to thank you for treating
to the circus," continued the lad. "As
you're so swift. 111 blue-pencil every-
thing except the trick zebra. His gait
and shape were the regular edition.
But his stripes ... I laid a wet
finger on one. It left a gray spot in
the black. *If s a horse on me, if you
ain't a mule,' says I. 'You never saw
any more of Africa than you could
find in your driver.' Yet he was a

wild beast of a tame brute. With ears
low and tail up, he so speedily made
rubber balls of a white man, several
niggers and three or four boys that
Mr. Ringmaster nigh split his coat
with laughing.

" 'Nolx)dy seems to want that re-
ward,' he says.

" 'I'll take a try at it,' I chinned in.

"'Life insured?' he cracks.

" 'They're not needin' more news-
boys to handle extras of the Sun or
Evening Star in heaven at present/
I fired back.

"He says, 'You're tolerable flip,' an*
he flicked at a fly with his whip.

I hopped on the zebra. Gee, whoa !
That equine jumped at the roof and
didn't miss it by much. Bunching his
hoofs, he waltzed. Up on his hind-
legs and reverse! He see-sawed,
trotted, galloped, cavorted sideways.
And budc! Come up! How he
bucked! As soon as I had a chance
I yanked two wads of raw cotton from
his ears. He stopped short and
switched himself. Laying his head on
edge like a countryman listening for a
train, he shook it. Out bounced quick-
silver! A second shake and some
more popped from the other ear.
Then he simmered into the gentlest
and most sociable mule you ever saw,
an' he let me ride him straight at Mr.
Ringmaster, like we had been friends
from childhood.

"'Take your William,' remarfced
that gentleman. 'You're a pretty slick
article. How'd you like to g'long with
the show ?'

" 'I'm a young thing and cannot

leave my mother,' I says. And that's

all, Mr. Mace, except here's your half.
f>

At this point Jimmie covered the
Black Demon's picture with a five.
For a second the Sporting Editor
gazed at the youthful financier, after
which, rising, he took his ninety-eight
cent Derby and handed back the bill,
saying :

"I'm not big enough to rob J. Pier-
pont Morgan. Sidestep, Jimmie. The
beers are on me."

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS^

By Anna Erwin Woods

[Amnffod from tli« pAp«rs and peraonAl memoirs of Andrew Brwln)

CHAPTER Xni— Continued

My brother had gone to Charlotte
with my father, and he and I talked
together about all which had happened
there. He said to me :

**Ned,it was our uncle who prepared
those resolutions which have declared
us to be a free and independent people,
sovereign and self-governing, under
the control of no other power other
than that of our God and the general
government of the Continental Con-
gress. These were his very words,
and then there were others just as
noble, pledging our lives, our fortunes
and our sacred honor to the mainte-
nance of our independence, and those
resolutions were unanimously adopted,
and they were read aloud from the
courthouse steps by Thomas Polk. Oh,
Ned, there were brave men at Char-
lotte."

"You speak truly, Hal," I said,
with my heart full of a strong impulse
for independence, the same feeling
which so soon was to take full and en-
during possession of all the men and
women of the western world. "The
men of Carolina," I continued, "are
brave men. No province has come out
boldly like ours. They have shed their
blood in Massachusetts, but they have
not declared their independence. I am
proud that my mother is a Brevard,
and she has the true spirit, too. Do
you remember, Hal, my telling you
about the wife of James Robertson?
Of how she acted that time when he
went to Oconostota ? She did not say
one word nor shed a tear. Whatever
Robertson does she thinks is right ; she

^Begun In the May Issue.

is a woman of a great deal of sense;
and I believe that her faith in him
makes Robertson such a strong man;
such women gave men strength. Our
mother is that kind of a woman. She
thinks that whatever our father de-
cides to do is wisest and best. I have
never in my life heard her question
one word he said. If all the men in
the colonies could have such wives as
Robertson's wife, and such mothers
as our mother, I believe the men would
be strong enough to build a nation
greater than any on the face of the
whole world."

"Yes," replied Hal with equal ear-
nestness; "if all the men of our colo-
nies would be brave like those men at
Charlotte, and declare our indepen-
dence, we should be done with kings ;
and we would give the world a lesson
in freedom."

CHAPTER XIV

WE FIGHT THE CHEROKEES

Early in the spring of the year 1776
we heard that instructions had been
received from the British War De-
partment to arm the Indians and ex-
cite them to hostilities. In obedience
to this command, the British agents
among the tribes called t<^ther the
different chiefs and warriors and made
known the designs of their govern-
ment. At first it could not be under-
stood by the savages that the whites,
who spoke the same language, would
destroy each other, civil war being
unknown among them. A majority
of the tribes were gained, however, to
the British interests by promises of

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS

large presents in clothing, the plun-
der of the conquered country, and that
part of it which was on the Western
waters to be reserved as their hunting
ground.

My resolve was at once made to re-
turn to Watauga, and I set out upon
my journey, leaving behind the tender
ties of home and kindred. Once more
I stood upon the Appalachian moun-
tain top, gazing heavenward, but in
my sold were no dreams of love and
home and quiet happiness, no vain
longings, no vain regrets; my heart
was filled with an eager desire to re-
turn to the stem, adventurous,
strangely fascinating life of the wil-
derness. There I would cast my fate,
and I would share the toils and dan-
gers of those children of Virginia and
Carolina who Ind been thrust out to
hew their way through the vast, som-
ber forest.

The bold spirit of the men at Char-
lotte had awakened my soul to the de-
light of freedom, and the act of the
British Government in arming the sav-
ages filled my heart with thoughts of
vengeance. A vision of the future
came to me — of bloody warfare with
savage tribes, which was to try the in-
domitable spirit of border men and
women, that fiery, restiess race, so
fierce in intensity of purpose, so irre-
sistible in sustained ejnergy. They
it would be who would build a border
empire in the basin of the Mississippi.
They would be masters of the great
river, along waters whose outlet
should be, not the Atlantic, but the
Gulf of Mexico.

Soon after my return to Watauga a
warning was received from our friend,
the humane Prophetess of the Chero-
kees, that we would be attacked. A
messenger was sent to the Committee
of Safety, in Virginia; but at that
early period of the Revolution the ex-
ecutive authority of Virginia was a
feeble body. No aid could be sent to
us; and from that day we learned the
lesson that not only must we men of
the border defend ourselves, but we
wilderness dwellers must be a living
bulwark to keep back the savage tribes

from the country of the Atlantic coast.
There would be waged the war of
civilized man, but for us would be
savage butchery.

We soon learned that large bodies
of Indians were on the warpath, and
a council was held to determine wheth-
er to await their attadc or to march
out in search of them and fight them
wherever they could be found. Sev-
eral forts had been built in the differ-
ent settlements, but it was decided to
march and meet the savages. Soon
the inquiry among us was not, "How
many Indians are there ?" but, "Where
are they to be found?" Sometimes,
when we did not succeed in finding
and fighting them, they would devas-
tate the whole country with fire and
tomahawk, committing massacres by
day and by night, torturing women
and dashing out the brains of children
against the trees.

So terrible and widespread did
these outrages become that men were
raised in both Virginia and Carolina
to march with us into the heart of the
Cherokee settiements and destroy
them. Fearless of danger and regard-
less of hardships, through forests and
rivers we marched by night, as well
as by day; there was no need for
army trains, for when there was time
for sleep, wrapping ourselves in our
blankets, the wilderness gave us shel-
ter as it gave us food. With the sure
and steady aim of the border men, our
rifles never betrayed our trust, wheth-
er we sought deer or bear or buffalo
or savage.

With determined purpose we devas-
tated their towns and villages, laid
waste their crops and drove off their
cattie. So completely was this work
done that they were forced to make a
treaty early in the year 1777. Through
that year, however, scouting parties
of Indians still continued to kill and
plunder the inhabitants upon the bor-
ders of the settiements and were pur-
sued and punished by our rangers.

In making these attadcs the Indians
would seldom come in force, but acted
individually or in small parties. They
would conceal themselves in bushes

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THK TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

or weeds, or behind trees or stumps;
sometimes they would waylay the
paths or fields of the settlers; then
they would fire a gun or let by an ar-
row\ If necessary, they would retreat,
but if they dared they would advance
upon their killed or crippled victim
to take his scalp if possible.

They would aim to cut the garrison
off from supplies by killing the cattle,
watching the watering places and de-
stroying the fields. When their own
stock of provisions was exhausted they
would supply themselves by shooting
game. In the night they would
place themselves near the fort gate,
so as to sacrifice the first person who
appeared in the morning; and during
the day, if there was any cover, such
as grass, bushes, stones or a clod of
earth, they would crawl along toward
the gate and fire at whoever came near.
Sometimes they would approach the
wails and attempt to fire them or to
beat down the gate. At other times
they would make a feint to attract the
garrison on one side while they at-
tacked on the other.

Such was the enemy with whom we
had to contend. In combat they were
brave ; in defeat, dexterous ; in victory,
cruel. Neither age nor sex were
saved from their tomahawk and scalp-
ing knife. It was only at intervals,
when we had compelled them to retire
for a while, that we could plow our
com, gather our crops, get up our cat-
tle^ or hunt game for our food. Our
traveling load to be done at night,
leaving the paths and not daring to
build fires.

With such foes we soon acquired a
fortitude, dexterity and wiliness great-
er than their own. Our frontiers were
soon so well guarded by our militia
that the savages began to consider
their incursions as perilous to them-
selves as to the pioneers, and at length
forbore to make them. It was finally
decided that peace might be main-
tained by the good offices of a Super-
intendent of Indian Affairs, and Cap-
tain James Robertson, as Superintend-
ent, was directed to reside in the
Cherokee Nation.

CHAPTER XV

I VISIT DANIEL BOONE IN KENTUCKY

Peace, for the time being, was se-
cured for our settlement, and I con-
sidered it an opportune occasion to
carry out my long cherished desire to
visit Boone in Kentucky. I had heard
that during the early summer of the
year 1775 he had built a fort on the
south side of the Kentucky River,
near a salt lick at a place which wt
now call Boonesborough.

I started in search of him, going
through Cumberland Gap over a road
which you know as the famous Wil-
derness Road, but at that time we
spoke of it as Boone's Trace. As soon
as Henderson had made his treaty
with the Cherokees at Sycamore
Shoals, in 1775, of which I have told
you, he immediate sent Boone for-
ward with a company of choppers and
markers to cut out a road, and it was
over this that afterwards all the early
settlers traveled to Kentucky. Hen-
derson himself, with a large company,
soon followed Boone; their progress
was slow, and after going a short
distance with wagons these had to be
abandoned. I have seen a letter which
Boone wrote Henderson at this time,
urging him to come forward as soon
as possible, and as it is concise and to
the point, I will repeat it to you. It
was in these words :

**My advice to you, sir, is to come
or send as soon as possible. Your
company is desired greatly, for tlie
people are very uneasy; but are will-
ing to stay and venture their lives
with you, and now is the time to flus-
terate [frustrate] the intentions of the
Indians, and keep the country whilst
we are in it. If we give way to them
now it will ever be the case."

HENDERSON AND HARROD

It was about the middle of April
when Henderson and his company
arrived, and the great country of
Kentucky was beginning to appear in
its most gorgeous beauty. The build-
ing of the fort at Boonesborough at
once gave a feeling of strength and

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS

permanence to the settlers. A very
distinguished explorer, James Harrod,
came down from the Monongahela
country into Kentucky and built a fort
at a place called Harrod's Town, the
site of the present Harrodsburg, and
likewise there was a small settlement
about six miles east, called Harrod's
Station. Colonel Benjamin Logan
and Colonel John Floyd, of Virginia,
whose families you know well, also
established forts and settlements. The
McAfees and others, whose names of
note you would at once recognize,
were among the first to come.

During my visit to Boone he showed
me the grand old elm tree which had
served as the council-house for the
first legislature of Kentudqr. It was
at his fort and had a beautiful carpet
of white clover. Immediately upon
Henderson's arrival he had proceeded
to organize a government and had
issued a call for an election of dele-
gates to the legislature of Transyl-
vania. One of the first subjects con-
sidered by them was the protection
of the game; without game and com
Kentucky could not have been settled.
They also passed an act for preserv-
ing the breed of horses ; the Kentudcy
spirit of to-day was abroad even from
the b^^ning.

JAMES RAY^S PROWESS

Soon after my arrival I made the
acquaintance of a young man by the
name of James Ray, who lived at Har-
rod's Town. It happened that one
day Ray went out with a friend to try
his gun near the fort, and in a few
minutes his companion was suddenly
shot dead. Following the direction
of the shot, Ray perceived the enemy,
but while he was attempting to re-
venge his friend's death, he found
himself surrotmded by a large body
of Indians who had crept up unseen.
Exposed to their fire, he made a swift
retreat for about a hundred and fifty
yards, but when he approached the
fort we, who were within, did not dare
open the gate to admit him. The
number of Indians was so great that

•The preMDt dty of Pittsbnrff, Pa.

it would have meant certain death for
all.

There happened to be a stump just
seven feet from the fort, and Ray suc-
ceeded in getting behind that. There
he lay under the fire of the Indians,
whose balls every now and again
would throw up the ground around
him; but they did not dare to come
within the reach of our fire. Ray's
mother was in the fort looking on for
four hours at her son in this perilous
situation. At last Ray called out,
"For God's sake, dig a hole under the
wall and take me in!" We imme-
diately went to work and successfully
dragged him in.

I alluded just now to Ray's swift-
ness in running; through his nimble-
ness of foot he had the year before
saved the fort from a surprise, by
escaping from the Indians and giving
notice of their coming. When Boone
was afterwards captured by the Chief
Black-Fish he told him that there was
a boy at Harrod's Town who could
outrun all his warriors. During the
whole summer the Indians were
around the fort so that no crop of corn
could be raised. There were in Ken-
tucky at this time a little over a hun-
dred guns, as we called the men.
These were divided between the forts
at Boone's, Logan's and Harrod's ; the
pioneers in these stations being sepa-
rated by three or four hundred miles
of Indian wilderness from their coun-
trymen at Fort Pitt,* and six hun-
dred miles from the seat of the Vir-
ginia government at Williamsburg.
You will understand that, of course,
Kentucky was considered a part of
Virginia, looking to that colony for
government but not for help ; like all
other people of the frontier, they had
to protect themselves.

I MEET GEORGE ROGERS CLARK

One day as I was talking with Ray,
I observed a fine, soldierly-looking
man standing near, and asked : "Who
is that man? I have not seen him
before."

"That is George Rogers Claric," an-

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

swered Ray. "He is from Virginia,
and he is a fine man. I will tell you
about the first time I ever saw him.
I had been out on the range to turn
some horses out and had killed a duck
which was feeding in the spring.
Going up on the brow" of the hill I
kindled a fire and was roasting my
duck when some one suddenly ac-
costed me, and turning around I saw
a man who said: 'How do you do,
my little fellow ? What is your name ?
^'Aren't you afraid of being in the
woods by yourself?' I answered his
questions and invited him to take some
of my duck. He found it so good that
he ate it all. Then I asked him his
name and business, and he answered :
'My name is Clark, and I have come
to see what you brave fellows are
doing in Kentucky, and to lend you a
helping hand if it is necessary.' He is
one of the finest men, Ned, you ever
saw, and I am not sorry I gave him
my duck."

After that I met Clark and found
him extremely agreeable and manly in
his deportment and remarkably intel-
ligent in his conversation. There was
about everything around him and to
a spirit of enterprise which rendered
him very interesting;. He showed a
desire to inform himself accurately
about everything around him and to
cultivate the acquaintance of all the
people. He was a great deal in the
woods and he also visited the forts
and other places. He was probably
about six and twenty years of age
at the time I met him, as I think he
was born in Albemarle County, Vir-
ginia, on November 19, 1752. As I
saw more and more of Clark I learned
to have a still higher appreciation of
him, although I admit that I was very
far from recognizing the consummate
ability of the man or foreseeing the
great achievements he was to accom-
plish as a leader.

I think he had first visited Ken-
tucky simply as a romantic adventure ;
but he soon recognized its value as a
frontier to Virginia and to the rest of
the Confederacy, and was constantly
devising plans for its defense. His

*V!noennM, Indiana.

efforts were unceasing to secure aid
from the Virginia government; but
although he met with the cordial ap-
probation of Governor Patrick Henry,
he was not successful in attaining his
object. The tremendous struggle of
the American Revolution demanded
all the energies of the commonwealth.
What was not fully appreciated at
this time, although it was later in the
progress of the Revolution, was the
fact that the parent states were saved
from the ravages of every Indian en-
gaged upon the border.

Clark had seen at a glance, what
had never been considered by any one
else, that the sources of the Indian de-
vastations were to be found in the
British posts of Detroit, St. Vincent's*
and Kaskaskia. The clothing, ammu-
nition and arms supplied at these mili-
tary stations to the Indians stimulated
their heart-rending ravages. Could
these places be taken and a counter in-
fluence established over the savages,
the horrors perpetrated upon the bor-
ders would, in a great measure, cease.
To none of these ideas, however, did
he give expression ; he merely declared
his intention of going to Virginia on
other matters of business. I had been
rather closely associated with Qark
since being in Kentucky, and my lik-
ing for him was so great that when he
extended to me an invitation to ac-
company him to Williamsburg I very
gladly accepted it.

CHAPTER XVI

- PATRICK HENRY AND THOMAS JEFFER-
SON AT WILLIAMSBURG

We left Kentucky on October i,
1777, and upon our arrival in Virginia
found the people in fine spirits, the
news of the victory of our army under
Gates at Saratoga and the capture of
Burgoyne having just been received.
There were universal rejoicings and
congratulations, and all men's hearts
seemed filled with hope.

It was upon this visit to Williams-
burg that I had the honor of meeting
for the first time Governor Patridc
Henry, and also the great Thomas

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Jefferson, being invited by the govern-
or to dine at his table when the dis-
tinguished statesman was his guest.
I recall that it was the loth day of
December. Being the only person
present who had taken part in the
wars upon the frontiers against the
Cherokee Indians, I was called upon
to answer many questions in regard
to their ravages and the terrible na-
ture of the atrocities practiced by
them ; and as I spoke of these, all who
listened seemed filled with horror and
to feel that such deeds must call forth
a feeling of desperate vengeance.

Even on the frontiers we had heard
of the noble Declaration of Independ-
ence written by Thomas Jefferson;
and on this occasion I listened with
deep interest to every word which fell
from his lips. In speaking of the out-
rages committed by the savages, Mr.
JeflFerson told us of William Pitt's em-
ployment of Indians in the Colonial
wars.

"Spain," said the earl, "armed her-
self with bloodhounds to extirpate the
wretched natives of America, and we
improve on the inhuman example of
even Spanish cruelty; we turn loose
these savage hell hounds against our
brethren and countrymen in America,
of the same language, laws, liberties
and religion, endeared to us bv '^very
tie that should sanctify humanity."

There was profound silence wheii
Mr. Jefferson finished quoting from
this great speech, and he went on to
give an extract from another speech
made by Pitt:

"If I were an American, as I am an
Englishman, while a foreign troop
was landed in my country, I would
never lay down my arms, never ! nev-
er ! never !"

Although I knew nothing of it at
the time, I have since been told by
Qark that it was during that very eve-
ning of December loth that he ob-
tained a private interview with Gov-
ernor Henry and laid before him the
plan of his Illinois campaign. The
governor was captivated by the bril-
liant prospect of strikingr such a fatal
blow against the enemy in the heart
of tfieir savage allies. He appreciated

the hazard and daring of such an at-
tempt; particularly as the secrecy in-
dispensable to success forbade the
communication of the plan to the leg-
islature.

I have always believed that the only
persons from whom Governor Henry
sought counsel were George Wythe,
George Mason and Thomas Jefferson ;
all three of whom possessed the high-
est confidence of their fellow citizens.
I was aware that he held several con-
ferences with these gentlemen at the
time, but of course I had not the
slightest idea as to what matters were
occupying their attention. As I
learned afterward, most minute in-
quiries were made into Clark's plan
of campaign, and especially his propo-
sition that, in event of defeat (which
seems to have been quite expected),
he would retreat to the Spanish pos-
sessions on the west side of the Missis-
sippi, upper Louisiana, as it was
called. The Spanish officials who
were in authority over this country re-
sided at what was then the little town
of St. Louis; but the inhabitants of
that town and of all that country were
French, as were also the people on the
east side of the Mississippi; but the
British held that part of the country.

The result of all these deliberations
was that on January 2, 1778, George
Rogers Qark received two sets of in-
structions from Governor Henry ; one
public, directing him to proceed to
Kentucky for its defense, and the oth-
er secret, ordering an attack on the
British post of Kaskaskia.

On February 4th we set off on our
return to Kentucky. Clark afterward
said: "I was clothed with all the au-
thority I could wish." Few leaders
would have taken this view, as what
was furnished him was twelve hun-
dred pounds in depreciated colonial
currency, a suitable order on the offi-
cer at Fort Pitt for ammunition and
boats, and directions to raise his troops
west of the Blue Ridge, lest he should
weaken the Atlantic defense.

MY COMRADE, CHARLES GORDON

There were some pioneers going
from Virginia to Kentucky, and al^o

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some other adventurous persons who
accompanied us upon our return.
Among the latter was a young Vir-
ginian by the name of Charles Gor-
don, with whom I had been quite
closely associated during our stay in
Williamsburg. Between Gordon and
myself there had sprung tip a feeling
of friendship, or I should rather say,
a feeling of good comradeship, found-
ed much more upon love of adventure
than upon patriotism.

Accompanying Gordon was a
Scotchman by the name of Donald
McLean, a good deal older man than
himself, and of much humbler place
in life. Donald told me that, during
many generations Gordon's ancestors
in Scotland had been the lairds of the
estate upon which his own forefath-
ers had lived. After the uprising in
that country in favor of "Prince Char-
lie," called by the enemies of the Stu-
arts "the Pretender," Gordon's grand-
father had been exiled by King
George's government and had come
to Virginia, bringing with him a num-
ber of his followers, among others
Donald's father.

Donald had passed his life at the
beautiful home of the Gordons, near
Williamsburg, and had been made
head gardener of that place. His loy-
alty to the family rivalled his devofion
to the royal house of Stuart and its
exiled princes, and to the Free Kirk
of Scotland.

When we reached Fort Pitt we met
with some difficulties, and one day
Gordon said to me: "Ned, the people
here are saying that, instead of Clark's
weakening the country by attempting
to defend Kentucky, he had better let
the Indians keep their hunting ground
and move the Kentuckians bade into
Virginia."

"By the omnipotent Jupiter him-
self I" I replied, feeling my blood boil
with resentful indignation, "you and
the rest of these people know very
little what you are talking about w"hen
you speak of removing the Kentucki-
ans like so many chattels. Wait until
you have seen that country and then
say whether you would give it up to
savages."

"Oh," exclaimed Gordon, "I under-
stand about the extraordinary beauty
and fertility of all that great western
wilderness country, but it seems to be
as much as a man's life is worth to
attempt to live^ there."

"Yes," I answered, with a tone of
derision in my voice, "I suppose you
people on the Atlantic coast think you
are brave and know something about
danger and hardship. But wait until
you have lived and fought with the
men on the western side of the moun-
tains; wait until you have gone into
the wilderness with Boone and Har-
rod and Logan and .Floyd and all the
rest of these giants in body and soul.
And they are doing giants' worfc ; they
have determined to conquer the wil-
derness and to be masters of it."

"Indeed," said Gordon, "they will
surely have terrible work to gain the
mastery now that the British have de-
termined to let loose the savages upon
them."

"We have had some dealings with
the savages," I answered, "and we ex-
pect to have a good many more. You
are going down here with Clark now
to see how we manage such things,
are you not?"

"Yes," replied Gordon, "I have
come with Clark with the hope of
some adventures, and of course some
danger and hardship thrown in. I
suppose he will make us a pretty good
leader for such things."

Little we dreamed what it would
mean to follow Clark.

CHAPTER XVII

WITH CLARK IN THE ILLINOIS

Colonel Clark dispatched Major
Smith to the settlement on the Hol-
ston to recruit, and Captain Harrod,
Captain Bowman and Captain Leon-
ard Helm were sent to other settle-
ments for the same purpose. Claiic
himself continued his course to the
Falls of the Ohio River, where he for-
tified a post opposite the present town
of Louisville. Here we were joined
by the different detachments; and
then, for the first time, Clark disclosed

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his real destination. The troops were
informed by him of his purpose to
invade the Illinois territory and to cap-
ture the British forts, and, with the
exception of one company, we all ar-
dently concurred in his plans.

With baggage consisting of the bar-
est equipment we began to descend
the river. On our passage down the
river Colonel Clark received a letter
from Fort Pitt, informing him of the
French alliance. This news was most
propitious, as it afterward aided us
in establishing friendly relations with
the French inhabitants of the Illinois,
and also with the Indians.

Soon after we had landed at the
mouth of the Tennessee we met a par-
ty of hunters who had recently been
in Ka^askia and could give us some
valuable information. They said spies
were stationed on the Mississippi, and
all Ind&ns and hunters were ordered
to keep a lookout for the rebel Vir-
ginians.* They told us that the fort
which commanded the town was kept
in good order, but the military defense
was attended to more as a matter of
parade than from any expectation of
the necessity to guard against an at-
tack. If this should be anticipated,
the force of the place was capable of
giving the Americans a warm recep-
tion. These hunters thought that if
we could surprise the place there
would be no difficulty in our capturing
it. They were from the American set-
tlements, and expressed a desire to
aid us in our enterprise, and we readi-
ly accepted their offer to join us.

They told us that the British had
led the French inhabitants to entertain
the most horrid apprehensions of our
countrymen, as being more barbarous
and more to be dreaded than the In-
dians themselves. Qark at once de-
termined to make use of this feeling
of dread and horror as a valuable aux-
iliary to his diminutive force. He
thought that the more violent the
shodc which his arrival would pro-

duce, the stronger would be the ap-
preciation of his subsequent lenity, so
little to be expected from such bar-
barians as we were represented to be.

Everything being in readiness for
our advance, the boats were dropped
a short distance down the river and
concealed. Then we took up our line
of march, our commander being at
our head and sharing in every respect
the condition of his men. We pro-
ceeded in a northwestern direction,
through the present state of Illinois,
and our progress was attended by lit-
tle that was unusual in those times of
privation, except that game and water
were scarce.

When we were only three days out,
our chief guide became so bewildered
that he forgot all the principal fea-
tures of the country. This immediately
aroused suspicion, and a general cry
was raised to put the traitor to death.
I had seen enough of Tories and trai-
tors to cause me to be very suspicious,
and to judge them without mercy.
Gordon agreed with me and expressed
himself strongly in favor of speedy
punishment.

'Tfe maunna be ower hard on him,
Maister Charlie," said Donald Mc-
Lean, who was marching at our side ;
*'I dinna ken, but I will be judging
he is a goot man. I hef seen that he
has a hearty word for ilka body, and
now may the Lord ha'e peety on the
puir laddie and gi'e him Hcht to know
the road."

Upon the solicitation of the guide,
Clark granted him permission to go
into the prairie, in full view, and try to
recover himself; and Gordon, Donald
and I were sent with him to prevent
his escape. The commander also
sternly told him that if he did not con-
duct the detachment into the hunt-
ers' road which led into Kaskaskia
from the east, and which he had fre-
quently traveled, and which could not
be easily forgotten by a woodsman, he
should be hanged.

*In ih\B part of th« country all Americans were called Virginians.

\To he continued]

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By Alice Frances Thomas

BACK in a very remote corner of
our sunny Southland, where the
bear, the hare and the raccoon
often met and danced to keep time
with the music of the wolf's howl;
where the cotton patch bloomed the
whitest and the cornfield waved the
greenest; where the morning larks
sang together, and all the sons and
daughters of Pap and Mammv Lucas
shouted for joy — here once lived a
happy family. Pap Lucas was king of
the province, whose limit was Lucas
farm, and Mammy Lucas was queen
of the household, while their nine chil-
dren were their only subjects, ready
ever to do their bidding.

One fine morning in September,
long before the sun poured his mellow
rays across the field of cotton sur-
rounding the old log cabin where lived
the Lucas family, Pap awoke from the
peaceful slumbers of a long Septem-
ber night.

"Bill !" he shouted, for it was time,
in his opinion, that the children were
up and about their morning duties.

Bill was the eldest of the nine chil-
dren, and consequently it was appoint-
ed unto him to be first in every call —
first up in the morning, first to work
in the cotton field, and first in the
hearts of his parents.

Now, Pap was comfortably situated
on a nice cotton mattress which was
placed upon a plain wood bedstead —
both of his own make. The bedstead
stood in one of the back corners of the
only spacious bedroom of the Lucas
residence, while Bill and the rest of
the children were far less fortunate,
for it fell to their lot to bunk around
on pallets made of old quilts and blan-
kets spread out on the floor so as to
make room for all nine of the young-
sters. They were, at best, somewhat

crowded, and Bill, his rest having been
broken by an occasional kick from Jim
or some of the rest of the boys during
the night, was not awake so early in
the morning as was his father. So
Pap's roaring "Bill!" came right in
the middle of one of those good old
morning snoozes enjoyed by a cotton-
picking boy of the South. He was
only sufficiently aroused by his fath-
er's call to roll over and very indis-
tinctly answer, "Y-e-s, s-i-r,' then away
for. anotlier nap. A few moments of
quietude, and the old man squalled:
"Billy!" emphasizing his former call
by the addition of a new syllable, and
all the extra force of his lungs, mak-
ing a noise, the other children thought,
sufficient to raise the dead. But Bill
did not move or stir, seeming to be
away to the farthest limits of dream-
land.

"Creak, crack, cradcle," went the
rickety old bedstead beneath its bur-
den of three hundred pounds, as Pap
slightly raised himself to reach for his
persuader, which, in the form of a
cowhide quirt, hung just above his
head at night and suspended from a
belt of the same material during the
day.

While Pap's call, "Bill!" and his
louder yell, "Billy!" the roar of the
loudest thunder, the fury of the hurri-
cane, and the "pinch and git furtfier*'
of the younger boys fail^ to rouse
Bill, he was up and in his homespun
trousers in the wink of an eye when
the old bedstead appealed to him to
rise.

The fires were soon made and the
eldest sister, Sallie Ann, was up and
stirring. Ere Pap, Mammy and the
small children could prepare them-
selves for breakfast, a sumptuous feast
of flapjacks, red hot from the fr3ring

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pan, syrup which did not have to be
hemmed up in one comer of the plate
with half a dozen biscuits in order to
get to eat it ; and butter, fresh and cool
from the milk trough, was ready to
serve. Each place at the table was
soon filled, and the good old free-
hearted coffee pot shared its contents
liberally with every man.

Ah, the perfect, healthful appetite
with which this breakfast was relished
might call forth the envy of a king!

The meal was soon finished, and ev-
erything hastily put in the best order,
for 'twas to be a great day at Lucas
farm, a day to which all the family
had looked forward with the pleas-
antest anticipation. All the neighbors
and the youngsters, far and near, had
been invited to a cotton-picking, and,
as Bill expressed it, "a tump-to-riiy-
luly" afterward. Of course, all were
expected, and Pap's keen eye could
see his snowy white cotton field robed
in a duller attire in the evening. Mr.
and Mrs. Lucas and all the children
were hastily dressed in their best,
which consisted, in the main, of home-
spun and jeans, with now and then a
touch of calico and ribbon used as an
ornament. They all wore substantial
shoes of Pap's own make, while Mam-
my alone wore a snowy white apron
fresh from the Lucas laundry.

At an early hour the guests began
to arrive, by ones and twos, by tens
and dozens, traveling in all the fash-
ionable ways of the day, some walking
and some riding on horseback, some
on muleback, and some in farm wag-
ons drawn by horses and mules whidi
were so sleek that a fly no sooner
lighteci upon them than he slipped up
with a broken neck or leg.

The ordinary greetings were soon
exchanged, and the cotton pickers
were off to the field in high glee. They
were a regiment of true workers, who
found pleasure in honest toil. By the
time the sun had risen to a height in
the sky from which he could peep
over the fence enclosing the Lucas
farm, a gay crowd of boys, girls, old
men, little men and children had gath-
ered in Pap's cotton field, which fairly
glistened ahead of them in its snowy

white dress, but was soon to be
stripped of all its present glory. Each
one was provided with a sack some
eight or ten feet in length, with a
broad strap attached to the open end
to extend over the shoulders or
around the waist, it being a matter of
choice which way it was worn. Into
these the cotton was put, handful after
handful, until all the portion of the
sack which lay on the ground was full.
Then they were emptied, for no one
desired the weight of the monstrous
sackful on his back. They were boun-
tifully supplied with baskets, which
Pap and Bill had made by weaving
thin strips of some hardwood togeth-
er. Into these the sacks could be suffi-
ciently relieved of their weight to en-
able the laborers to carry them along
without effort. Everything was ready
and the eager workers were beginning
their day's work and fun. You may
well believe every one was very merrv.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" shouted 'a
voice in the direction of the farm-
house. All eyes were instantly turned
and they saw Mr. Lucas coming at
lightning speed. "Before ye start
yore work," said he, out of breath
from over-exertion, "I jist want to ex-
press a feelin' uv mine. Right down
in these old jeans pockets uv mine is
a silver dollar,' bright as a star, and
what I wanted to say is this : The one
'mongst ye who brings in the most cot-
ton this evenin' gits it." He slapped
his jeans pocket, and having finished
the expression of his feelings, he
turned and walked leisurely back to-
ward the house with an air of perfect
satisfaction. Every one now went to
work in downright, dead earnest, put-
ting forth his best efforts to win the
shining prize in Pap's pocket. It was
an incentive which few workers in
their locality had to prompt their ef-
forts, and consequently Pap had their
best talent displayed. The nimble fin-
gers fairly snapped and popped as
they grabbed and reached after the
soft, white locks of cotton and played
back and forth between stalk and sack.

'Tore back must be a rubber string,
Jim," said Bill, as he observed the
nimbleness with which Jim Dunce

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stooped and bent himself backward
and forward, right and left, in quest
of the snowy fleece.

'1 can't say what it is made of,"
replied Jim. "I jist know that Mr.
Lucas' dollar makes it powerful lim-
ber/' He continued without stopping
the excellent display of his wonderful
ability as a cotton picker.

"Jim must get the dollar if I have
to help him do it/' put in Sallie Ann,
who worked along with Jim.

"Say, Jim, I do believe you'll have
to send Sister Sallie back over her
work/' laughed Bill Lucas, trying to
call Jim's attention from his work,
"for she's makin' these stalks look
like half-picked geese, and it won't
count if you win the dollar by goosin'
the cotton. Why, she's leavin* half
of it hangin' to the bolls I"

"Yes, but I'll bet Pap never knows
it," laughed Sallie, taking in the joke
at face value.

"The prize was to the one that gits
the most cotton and not to him that
leaves the least," said Jim, without
ever raising his head from his work to
see how much truth Bill was speaking.

"Well, Sister Sallie'd be certain to
git it if it was to the one who leaves
the most."

Jim Dunce and Sallie Lucas were
soon far ahead of the other cotton
pickers. Bill, the ablest picker in the
crowd, remained with the main divi-
sion of the laborers. When he began
to get ahead of them he picked along
on another row, knowing very well
that he would excel all the others, for
he had often before picked with this
same crowd.

"I declare, I'm gittin' awful hun-
gry," said Bill, as he leisurely and
easily piled the big handfuls of cotton
into his already full sack. "Joe Lee,
step across here a moment. I've got
vsome important business with you.*

"I will, if I get caught," replied Joe,
as he tripped lightly over to where
Bill stood, and something was whis-
pered between them as they hastily
stripped off their cotton sacks and
walked rapidly away. Only a few mo-
ments, and they reappeared carrying
a heavy load of long, green-striped
watermelons.

"Come, eat, one and all," called our
heroic and big-hearted Bill, after he
had split the watermelons, and at once
proceeded to deal out liberal shares
to every one. All answered the sum-
mons with their presence except Jim
Dunce and Sallie, who evidently did
not hear the call, so intent were they
on their work and conversation.

"This looks like selflshness," said
Bill, as he ate heartily of his mammoth
slice, "but if them geese wants the dol-
lar worse'n they do melon, let 'em go
ahead."

"Who will win the dollar and be the
honored guest at the 'tump-to-my-luly'
to-night?" rang out Bill's clear voice,
so shrill that it could be heard all over
Lucas farm every time the conversa-
tion seemed to be ebbing low.

In the old log kitchen, Mrs. Lucas,
with the assistance of her good neigh-
bor women, who were clever, indeed,
at preparing delicacies, was busy pro-
viding a toothsome repast for the la-
borers.

"Mrs. Jones, do open that oven and
peep at the pig," exclaimed Mrs. Lu-
cas, in great fright lest she should
spoil the least particle of the feast
which she was determined should be
perfect. "'Pears to me that I smell
him burning, and law! if I haven't
sot right here and let the sweet 'taters
roast too hard," she continued, as she
grabbed the fire shovel in great ex-
citement and began snatching them
from the fire as she continued her talk-
ing. "Now, Sister Reuben, would it
be askin' too much uv you ter git you
ter put that b'iled 'possum right in
this big oven so't I can be gittin' the
table ready? Jes' put the sweet taters
right round him an' in him an' all
over him. An* I don't know if
't^vouldn't add to the flavor to pepper
him right good," Mammy instructed,
as she proceeded to perform the whole
work herself. "Now, I must be gittin'
the greens an' the chicken an' the pun-
kins an' the pies an' the custards an'
the milk an' butter," said she, count-
ing the different articles of food off
on the fingers of her two labor-soiled
hands, "an' law I I come mighty nigh
forgittin' it, but I've got a ^cat big
stnip cake that I cooked yisterday!

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Well, I ain*t much for nicknacks, no-
how, but they do very well to top off
on. Sallie Ann wanted cake on the
table, though, gal like. Tm a great
hand for diet, myself. TU have to be
in a hurry, for the comp'ny will soon
be comin' in from the field — do notice
the 'possum ! — ^and I don't want 'em to
hafter wait a minute." She proceed-
ed to scatter the many delicacies over
the great table, the smooth clay floor
receiving an occasional drop of the
gravies- '*I declare to goodness. Aunt
Sarah, if I hain't spilt grease on my
bran'-new frock, and Sallie Ann
worked so hard to make it stylish and
nice for me to 'pear well at this occa-
sion ! It's awful hard for me to 'pear
an' act stylish, not bein' raised to it,
but I jcs' hafter try, for my chillen's
so proud-like. I guess I can wash
the grease out," she said, somewhat
recovered from the effect of the dis-
aster.

Dinner time, and the guests began *
to arrive from the field, laughing and
chattering like a million bladcbirds let
loose in the treetops of a pine forest.
Many a day had passed since these
youngsters had taken such wholesome
drinks as Pap Lucas' well afforded —
cool, fresh, thirst-quenching. They
drank their fill from the golden goblet
which once grew on Mammy Lucas'
gourd vine.

"D-i-n-n-e-r !" came Mrs. Lucas'
shrill call from the kitchen, which
was some distance from the other part
of the house. It was a welcome sound
for the smell of roast 'possum and
sweet potatoes, pig and turnip greens,
made the appetite sharper than any
two-edged sword. They soon gath-
ered in the kitchen and were seated
around the long table where one con-
tinued course of good things was
served until they had done ample jus-
tice to the wholesome farm dinner,
after which they hurried back to the
field to contest further for the silver
dollar. The cotton-picking closed at
four p.m. Then came the exciting mo-
ment Sacks and basketfuls for some
hands, and aprorifuls for others —
'twould soon be determined to whom
the diadem belonged.

"Squire Comins," said Pap, when
he saw the crowd gathering around
his little cotton house, "you go right
down yonder and weigh them chillen's
cotton an' send the smartest boy or
girl here ter git this dollar."

"You needn't to count mine, for I'm
not in the contest," said Bill. "Pap
cayn't pay me* fur pickin' his cotton."

Bill's withdrawal gave the prize to
Jim Dunce, to the great delight of
his partner, Sallie Ann, who had slyly
put a part of her cotton into his sack.

Half past seven, and all were in
readiness for the party to begin.
Mammy, with the assistance of Pap
and the neighbor women in attend-
ance, had during the cotton pidcing
hours after dinner removed every ar-
ticle of furniture from the bedroom.
All the boys, girls, men. women and
children remained for the party that
night. Each one was straining both
eyes and ears to catch a glimpse or
hear the approach of the fiddler.

"Well, chillen," said Mr. Lucas, as
he drew himself up in his old arm
chair, "ye might as well git ter play-
in' an' singin*, fur these getherin's
don't come ever' day, an' ye ought not
lose a minute. Git right ter work on
'tump-to-my-luly,' an' stop yer wor-
ryin' about ol' Dave. He'll be roun'
after while. I've been a-knowin' Dave
these forty years, an' he never has dis-
app'inted me yit."

Following Pap's advice the young-
sters were soon arranged in a big ring
on the floor, marching around as our
heroic Bill sang out, in a clear, loud
voice :

Go it boys, tump-to-my-luly,
Go it boys, tump-to-my-luly.
Go it boys, tump-to-my-luly,
Tump-to-my-luly my darling/' etc.

Ere they reached the second stanza,
every one on Lucas farm had joined
the singing and the swinging, which
continued until Bill suggested that
they change it into "A sweet sugar
lump," to the perfect satisfaction of
all concerned. The singing was then
changed to

That gentleman's rockin' his sugar lump,
That gentleman's rockin' his sugar lump,
That gentleman's rockin' his sugar lump,

Oh, turn, sinners, turn " etc.

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-^HE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

"Hello, Uncle Dave!'* exclaimed
Bill in the very midst of the play, as
he saw the old darky enter the room
with his fiddle under his arm and the
bow in his hand. "Now, boys, git
yore partners for a b-i-g dance — eight-
handed cowtillion."

The fiddler and the fiddle put new
life into the whole affair, and the ma-
chinery which had carried the singing
and swinging was easily adjusted to
another tune. Uncle Dave was an
important personage at all the parties.
Attired in his long, buff linen duster,-
high standing collar, red necktie and
brown jeans pantaloons which were
rather short, but large enough for two
negroes his size, he took his seat with
the greatest dignity and began tuning
his fiddle.

"Pap, you call the dance," kindly
demanded Bill of his honored father.

"Well, Uncle Dave, hurry with the
music. These chillen cayn't hardly
wait. You've tuned that fiddle
enough — it sounds all right," said Pap
in his eagerness for the dance to be-
gin.

Uncle Dave drew himself up in an
erect position and went off into the
old air^ "Run, Nigger, Run," at the
same time vigorously patting his num-

ber thirteens, which dangled two feet
out of his pants legs. Mr. Lucas be-
gan:

"Honah yore pardners ; lady on the
left, hands up and circle. Swing them
corners ! First couple out to the right,
change an' swing, an' nex' couple fol-
ler, change and suhwing. Ladies in
the center an' gents sashay to right ;
skip yore pardner — suhTving! All bal-
ance — suhwing! suhwing! Nex* cou-
ple to the right — lady in center — circle
three, an' suhwing! Ladies to their
seats !"

The dance thus opened. Pap took
his seat and Bill called the "figgers"
for the next dance — and the next and
the next.

Pap looked on the whole enjoyable
affair with a broad smile. His heart
thrilled with perfect rapture as he
watched his own beloved children,
as well as those of his neighbors,
drink the brimming cup of pleas-
ure. Parched peanuts and snowy-
white popcorn w^re served at twelve
o'clock, after which the party contin-
ued until three, when the farm boys
and girls went to their homes with the
sweetest remembrance of the Lucas
family, especially Sallie and her eld-
est brother— Cotton Patch Bill.

THE JAPANESE PEST

J. M. Scanland

)ENED by
:cess in forc-
' way into the
:hoois of San
o, the Japan-
n like manner
rding the pub-
►Is in Los An-
d other cities
tis throughout
^^..*w*.Ja. Hereto-
fore they have not attended these
schools in such large numbers, and in
many instances did not attend at all,
owing to race prejudice. But now

they swarm into the schools and defy
the white people. It may be stated,
however, that under the law where
there are no special schools for those
of the Mongoloid races the Japanese
and the Chinese are entitled to attend
the public schools. For the past quar-
ter of a century San Francisco has
maintained such a school. No other
city in the state, not even Los Angeles,
had a special school for Mongoloids.
Yet, in none of these cities and towns
did Chinese youth attempt to attend'
the public schools. On the otlier hand,
the Japanese have attended thes^

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THE JAPANESE PEST

schools, and in San Francisco they
stubbornly refused to attend the spe-
cial schools provided for them, ind in-
sisted upon attending the white
schools. Then they insolently claimed
that the San Francisco officials were
* 'discriminating" against them. Yet
the Japanese government is "discrimi-
nating" against its own people in pro-
hibiting Korean and Chinese youth
from attending schools in Japan.
They make the flimsy excuse that the
Chinese and Korean youth do not suf-
ficiently understand the Japanese lan-
guage. The Japanese language is de-
rived from the Chinese and the Ko-
rean languages, and until compara-
tively recent years the Japanese used
Chinese characters. Everything use-
ful that they have was borrowed from
the Chinese. They are descended
from the Chinese, and Chinese pirates,
at that. Consequently they are Mon-
goloids, and come under the state
school law.

The island now known as Japan
was the headquarters and base of op-
erations of Chinese pirates for ages,
and, like ancient Rome, it was the
refuge for the criminals of the world.
From this they grew into a nation of
fifty millions of people, and are now a
menace not only to the United States,
but to the civilized world. Being a
mixture of Chinese, Korean, Tartar
and of the wild tribes of the moun-
tains, they have retained the semi-bar-
barous traits of these people, and un-
derlying all is a stratum of cunning,
treachery and dishonesty, which unite
to make them the most peculiar of all
the races in the world. They stand
alone. Knowing their own degraded
characteristics l^cause of this admix-
ture of tainted blood of low species,
they hate the Caucasian race, and af-
fect a superiority over those from
whom they sprang. They are restless
and domineering — ^an enemy to man-
kind, and now that they have gained
recent victories the world will know
no peace until Japan is reduced to a
condhion when it can no longer blus-
ter and threaten Christian nations. In
the event of war, and it is more than
probable, there should be no defensive

and offensive treaty between a Chris-
tian nation and Japan as against the
United States. That war will be one
in which the Caucasian races and the
Christian world should unite against
the Asiatics, who will strive for su-
premacy over the white races.

The Japanese are not original think-
ers. They are imitative, and ovved to
the Chinese everything they had, ex-
cept their vices, until the United States
opened their doors half a century ago.
Since that time the Japanese have ad-
vanced further toward civilization
than they had in the previous thou-
sand years, or even since their history
began. They evolved no civilization
among themselves, for its germ was
not implanted within them as it is
with the Caucasian races. That those
in the United States will become
Christianized or civilized is very
doubtful. They are so steeped in big-
otry, idolatry and zeal for their own
belief that no reasoning power can
change them. Furthermore, our reli-
gion is not suited to the peculiar slug-
gish mind of the Asiatic. They do
not think as we do— that is, their
mode of thinking is different, and
their power of reasoning is very limit-
ed and blunted, owing to their super-
stitious training. Their nature can-
not be changed. Nor will they ever
become Americanized. They may be-
come educated and still be uncivilized.
Education is not civilization. It is
the education that the Japanese desire.
They care nothing for our civilization
or Christianity.

They are dishonest, from our stand-
point of morality. They hold that
any deception is permissible if by such
deceit they can accomplish an object.
They deliberately violate a contract,
oral or written, and offer no excuse as
a justification, only that more money
can be made by this violation of faith.
There is not a banker in Los Angeles
or in San Francisco who will lend
money to a Japanese on his note, un-
less it be endorsed by a Chinese or a
white man. They know to their finan-
cial sorrow that all Japanese are falsi-
fiers — that they deny their obligations,
their word and their signatures, even

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THE TAYLOR-TROT WOOD MAGAZINE

when under oath. The banks in Cali-
fornia do not desire and will not have
their business. Consequently, their
banking business is done through the
medium of Chinese, and the Japanese
banks in San Francisco employ Chi-
nese in the most important positions,
as tlie Japanese will not trust their
own countrymen. Any bank in Los
Angeles will lend money to a China-
man merely on his word — provided,
of course, that he is known to be
worth the amount asked for. That is
the Chinese custom of doing business.
They do not give notes, and it is an
insult to ask them for security.

In like manner the Japanese bazars
in Los Angeles and in San Francisco
are conducted by Chinese. It is the
same in other important lines of busi-
ness. This is a severe arraignment of
the Japanese, especially as it is by
themselves, and it places their moral
standard at about the lowest degree
of that of any people on earth.

Like other Asiatics, they treat wom-
en as chattels and as degraded things,
scarcely human.. Japanese merchants
buy their wives in Japan and later sell
them to keepers of dens of infamy.
Frequently these women are bought
by others, who marry them, and these
wives are received in Japanese socie-
ty. The fact that a woman was once
an inmate of such a place of infamy
does not make her immoral, according
to his oblique ideas. Since the exclu-
sion of the Chinese, the Japanese have
undertaken the importation of their
women for this vile business, and have
superseded the Chinese in the female
slave traffic.

Until the passage of the Chinese
Exclusion Law, in 1880, 'Tbread riots"
were frequent in California, and more
than once the red flag of anarchy was
carried through the streets of San
Francisco, the laborers demanding the
exclusion of Chinese, in order that
they might earn bread for their fami-
lies. At that time there were fifty
thousand Chinese in San Francisco
and its vicinity, and they had a mo-
nopoly of the cigar manufacturing
business and boot and shoe making.
They were extensively engaged in the

manufacture of all kinds of clothing,
and were monopolizing the fisheries,
underbidding the laborers in the fruit
orchards, vineyards, hop fields, and
on the ranches — in almost every
branch of labor the hard-working,
cunning Chinese was fOund. With
the passage of this law the prosperity
of California may be dated. Gradual-
ly the population has decreased
throughout the state to less than half
that number. There were no labor-
ers to take the places of those who
died or ceased to work because of old
age. No others came to learn the
trades, and thus the labor in the fields
and in the various trades and indus-
tries again came into the hands of
white men. The Chinese were not
only depriving white men of labor, but
draining the state of money by remit-
tances to their relatives. The same
thing is now being done by the Jap-
anese. They are taking the places of
Chinese laborers, and by their in-
creased and increasing numbers, are
also depriving white men of work, and
are also remitting their earnings to
their families in Japan. They import
from Japan most of their provisions
and their clothing. They spend as lit-
tle as possible in the country where
they work. The white man supports
5 c h o o 1 s, benevolent institutions,
churches, libraries, buys property and
expends money on public improve-
ments. Not so with the "Jap." What
he finds necessary to spend is with
his own people. He has his own sa-
looas, tailor shops, shoe shops, hotels,
general stores, etc., and he gets his
education free, for he contributes al-
most nothing in the way of taxation.
He is an expert at swearing, and to.
cheat an American, especially in the
matter of taxes, is considered by him
a patriotic duty.

Closing the door upon the Chinese
opened it for the Japanese. Our
statesmen, or rather politicians, could
not see very far ahead, otherwise they
would have included the Japanese in
the law. At that time there were only
a few thousand in the United States,
and congressmen could not reason
that if we closed the door on one the

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THE JAPANESE PEST

other would creep in, because cheap
labor was desired by the railway com-
panies and other corporations. They
did not even see the necessity for such
an amendment to the Exclusion Law
in 1890, when the Japanese popula-
tion in California had increased to
about ten thousand, nor as late as
1900, when it had reached twenty
thousand, half of that number being
in San Francisco and its vicinity. The
Japanese population in the adjacent
territories of Arizona and New Mexi-
co, and throughout the northwest, had
increased to about ten thousand, nuJc-
ing about thirty thousand on the Pa-
cific coast six years ago. That popu-
lation has increased to seventy thou-
sand, and about half of this number
are in California. There are twenty
thousand in San Francisco and Oak-
land, across the bay, and there are
eight thousand in Los Angeles and
its suburbs. At this rapid rate of in-
crease, it certainly did not require a
high order of political science to see
the coming trouble. Six years ago it
was very apparent, and why a bill ex-
cluding the Japanese is not passed
now can only be attributed to the ab-
ject fear on the part of our congress-
men of being "offensive" to the Jap-
anese government. We will find that
in the Japanese we have caught more
than a Tartar. We have caught
something very difficult to shake off.
The Chinese are docile, inoffensive,
unpresumihg, law-abiding and satis-
fied to occupy menial positions. Not
so with the insinuating Jap. He is
a laborer until he gets an education,
at our expense, and learns our lan-
guage and trades. Then he takes the
place of the white man by working
cheaper. It is not only the Japanese
laborer that should be excluded, but
the craftsman, mechanic and the
worker at all trades. These are to
be most dreaded. The Jap looks for-
ward to easier work — that is, any-
thing that is not menial. He is thus
taking the places of those of the mid-
dle lower classes.

Japanese of all trades, occupations
and professions, as well as laborers,
should be excluded. They are a men-

ace to our industries, our prosperity,
our civilization and to the peace of the
country. They contribute nothing to
its support and live upon its resources.
They are Asiatics by instinct, nature
and training, and will ever so remain.
In order to counteract what little ef-
fect our civilization and Christianity
may have upon them, "missionaries"
are sent from Japan to San Francisco,
and to Los Angeles, to preach their
cult, and, above all, to continually re-
mind them of their duty to remain
loyal to the Japanese government.

During the past several months the^
have been swarming to Southern Cali-
fornia in large numbers, and espe-
cially to Los Angeles. It is proposed
to establish a "Japanese city" near
Los Angeles, and it is understood that
three hundred thousand dollars have
been subscribed for that purpose. Los
Angeles is rapidly becoming "Japan-
ized," and in every part of the city
may be seen their employment agen-
cies, stores, hotels and saloons. The
Jap saloon is the roughest and most
disorderly resort that can be imagined.
More Japanese are arrested for disor-
derly conduct in Los Angeles in one
wedc tfian there are Chinese for simi-
lar offences in one year. The crimi-
nal records show that there are eight
times as many Japanese in the state
prison as there are Chinamen. The
five thousand Chinese in Los Angeles
are "colonized," or rather live in their
"Chinatown," and are little or no trou-
ble to the police or to the dtizens.
The Japanese scatter into every part
of the city, where they may under-
mine laborers and tradesmen. Wher-
ever the Jap locates, property at once
depreciates. White people avoid hini
as they do a pest — that is, self-respect-
ing white people. Not even the Chi-
nese will live near the Jap. The same
conditions prevail in San Francisco
and in other cities and towns through-
out the coast that are afflicted with
the presence of. these pests of civili-
zation.

Every community is infested with
spies. Japanese are employed on our
steamships and war vessels. Many of
them are spies, and should war be de-

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clared no doubt some of these vessels
would be blown up by these spies.

The recent one-sided agreement by
which Japanese children were permit-
ted to attend the white public schools,
and laborers were not to be permitted
to enter upon the '^mainland" without
passports, was suggested by the Japan-
ese Minister at Washington. It was
done so in a dictatorial manner, and
our government medcly accepted it,
contrary to law and public sentiment.
Japan is now using the Hawaiian and
the Philippine Islands as military
bases, and when a sufficient number
of men have been landed there and
trained, as is now being done, a de-
scent will be made upon the "main-
land." This is plain to any one with
ordinary intelligence. These islands
are coveted by Japan as advanced posi-
tions for the conquest of North
America. With an unbounded ambi-
tion that verges upon folly, they be-
lieve that they are the "coming peo-
ple," and are destined to rule the
world. They seek to dominate the
white race. Their hatred toward the
United States assumed an aggressive
form several years ago when our
President, without authority, project-
ed himself into the peace conference
between Russia and Japan. The Jap-
anese government desired to levy a
"tribute" of about one billion dollars
upon conquered Russia. To foil these
robbers and Ishmaelites of the world
was to invite their eternal hatred.
Then active colonization of the islands
began. The claim that the Japanese
authorities "discourage" and will con-
tinue to discourage the emigration of
its people is a very thin subterfuge,
and it requires no acumen to see
through the duplicity. The Japanese
government officials secretly encour-
aged and directed the migration of
Japs to the Hawaiian Islands, and
most of these are soldiers of the re-
cent wars. Here they are given mili-
tary training and are divided into bri-
gades and divisions, and all of the
male Japanese on these islands have
been provided with arms of modem
make. These arms are bought through
secret societies, which levy an assess-

ment weekly upon each member, and
every subject belongs to one of these
societies. If the government provided
these arms it would naturally arouse
inquiry, but they have cunningly
adopted this underhand business to
avert that suspicion. Our military of-
ficials seem to be asleep at their posts.

When the Hawaiian Republic re-
fused to grant suffrage to the Japan-
ese, that government began to ship
swarms of its people to the islands,
with the intention of forcing this de-
mand, and, perhaps, taking possession
of the islands. But the transfer of
the islands to the United States
blocked their plans, and this also is
another cause of their hatred of the
Americans. At present there are
about thirty thousand Hawaiians on
the eight islands. Thou^ citizens of
the United States, their loyalty in the
event of trouble is doubtful. The
same may be said of the forty thou-
sand Chinese and the seven thousand
"Kanakas." The white population is
about eight thousand. There are six-
ty-five thousand Japanese on the is-
lands, of which, it is estimated, at least
fifteen thousand served in the recent
wars against China or Russia. Thirt>'
thousand are males between the ages
of sixteen and fifty years, and are
capable of bearing arms. The remain-
ing twenty thousand are women, chil-
dren and old men. Practically Japan
has possession of the islands. We
have not a fort on the islands, and
there are not five hundred soldiers at
our army posts.

The swarm continues, the arrivals
being about four thousand a month.
They are supplanting the Chinese on
the sugar plantations, and in every
other class of labor. A few months
ago the arrivals from Japan were only
2,500 a months

Colonization of the Philippines con-
tinues at the same rate, and, in addi-
tion, they are swarming into this
country from South Ajnerica and
from Mexico. A steamship company,
owned by Japanese, brings cargoes
monthly to South American ports to
work in the silver mines and on rub-
ber plantations, under contract, re-

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THE JAPANESE PEST

ceiving about sixty-five cents a day.
They soon learn that wages are high-
er in America, and find their way to
the Pacific coast. They are shipped
by the immigration agents in "tran-
sit," through San Francisco, but many
of them elude the officers and do not
continue the journey. Of this num-
ber, and of the number who return
from South America, there is, of
course, no record. But the number is
estimated at frc»n five hundred to one
thousand monthly. The arrivals at
the port of San Francisco are from
three thousand to five thousand
monthly, and all of these are under
contract to the immigration agents,
and are at once distributed by them to
sections of the coimtry where cheap
labor is most likely to find a demand.
In most instances the contract is made
with the employer before the Japan-
ese are shipped to this coimtry. This,
of course, is in violation of the labor
contract law, but it is evaded by false
swearing, at which no Japanese will
hesitate.

In view of the rich field offered to
cheap labor, it is idle to suppose that
the Japanese government will "dis-
courage" the emigration of its pover-
ty stricken subjects, especially as that
government has entered upon a career
of conquest and plunder ! On the con-

trary it is reasonable to suppose that
emigration would be encouraged, and
that is what is being done. This is
proved by facts. The statements of
Japanese officials to the contrary is
mere duplicity. There is little nation-
al honor among Asiatic nations, and
personal honor is so rare among Jap-
anese that it is an exception. Mi Asi-
atic government will adhere to a trea-
ty only so long as it suits its conveni-
ence and interests. They are still in
the feudal ages, and respect only su-
perior power. They cannot imder-
stand why a country will make conces-
sions, unless through fear. And in
receding from our rightful position
on the public school question the Jap-
anese government officials believe that
it was done through fear, rather than
a desire for peace. And it looks as
if their estimation is nearly correct.
Consequently further concessions will
be demanded until the expected hap-
pens. It will be a war not of Ameri-
ca against Japan, but of the Christian
and Caucasian world against the Asi-
atics. It will be a war of races, of
civilization against semi-barbarism,
for the possession of Europe and
America. It will begin unexpectedly
and treacherously in tiie same manner
that Russia was attacked by Japan,
that Ishmaelite of the world.

ISRAEL

By Jeanette Sterling Greve

'OME now, Israel,"
called an old woman
from within the
mountain cabin.
"Jeems'll be hyer
'fore long, an' ye
know he cain't abide
ter see ye wastin' yer
time over that ever-
lastin' readin'."
The frail thin boy
who sat on the doorstep did not stir.
He was bent low over a book, striving
to catch the last rays of the sunlight

which tinged with a rosy glow the
top of "Old Baldy," towering high
above him.

"Thar ye air, at it ag'in I I reckon
I'll jest bum up that trash fer ye!"
The harsh voice of a tall man coming
along the path fell on his ear and the
boy jumped up precipitately.

"Git on in an* eat yer hoe-cake, boy !
Ye've got ter be up airly in the mom-
in' so's ter help Euthasy shear them
sheep. I'm goin* a-huntin'."

Fellers strode into the cabin and
Israel followed him without a word.

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"Jttms," said Euthasia, as he sat
down to the simple fare which she
placed before him, "thar was a feller
hyer this arternoon axin* could he git
a cabin ter start a school an' have
preachin' o' Sundays."

Israel leaned forward with an eager
look on his face.

"Wal, I s'pose ye told him thar
ain't?" The man brought his fist
down on the rickety table with a
thtmip that made the few plates and
cups rattle. " 'Slong 's Jeems Fellers
has the say-so in this valley, thar'll be
none o' them thar preacher-men a-
sneakin' 'round hyer. I've got along
good an' well fer more'n seventy year
'thouten 'em, an' I reckon hit'll be
seventy more 'fore I need 'em."

"I know ye've alius been down on
the lamin', Jeems, an' hit does 'pear
like we-all gits along all right thouten
it, but Israel's plumb sot on it, an' I
lowed some o' the other chaps mought
be wantin' — "

"What ye puttin' in fer Israel fer?"
demanded her husband. "Beggars*
brats hain't got no need fer l^nin',
nohow. I turned my own son oflF fer
gittin' so upsot by that dum-foolish-
ness that he wam't no 'count fer work-
in'."

"Yes, but Rufe— " The woman
stopped, frightened by the black look
her husband gave her.

"What's Rufe got ter do with it?"
he demanded. "Ye kin tell that
preachin' feller that ef him, or Rufe
. either, sets foot near me, I'll shoot 'em
both down, same as ef they was pole-
cats."

Israel shrank back against the wall
as if trying to squeeze himself out of
sight. Jeems, however, gave him no
further attention. He seemed to think
he had delivered an ultimatum, and
kicking off his heavy boots, soon
tumbled into a bed in the comer, of the
room.

When his heavy snores gave evi-
dence that he slept, Israel drew from
beneath the table a little old hair-trunk
which contained his few belongings —
among them six old and battered
books — and sat down in the firelight
to gloat over his treasures. They were

a "McGuffey's Fifth Reader," without
a cover, a well-thtunbed copy of "Pil-
grim's Progress," a paper-backed
Ivanhoe," Wordsworth's poems, and
two odd volumes of old-fashioned ser-
nxxis.

"I 'low I has one of all they is,
granny," he said, looking inquiringly
into the dd woman's face.

"I reckon you has, honey," she re-
plied in a low tone. She ^anced un-
easily at the bed, fearful of rousing
her husband, whose well-known
antipathy to "book - lamin' " had
scarcely permitted the poor waif he
sheltered to retain these precious relics
of happier days.

"How smart you be to know the
letters an' the readin', tool" Euthasia
went on in admiration. "I'd thmk
you'd git mixed up with 'em an'
couldn't tell one from t'other."

"They was my mammy's, ye know,"
said the boy, his face brightening with
a tender light. "After she died me
an' pappy useter read 'em together.
We brung 'em along in the wagon
when we started over the mountains
fer Kaintuck, an' when he tuck sick
hyer in the settlemint an' died, I
hadn't nothin' left me but her books."

"Pore leetle chap! I'm feared
sometimes ye has ter work too hard.
Jeems means all right," in sudden re-
membrance of loyalty to her lord, "he
jest don't rec'kct as you ain't moun-
tain bora an' cain't stan' what our
boys kin."

"Oh, I don't mind that, granny;
I'm a heap tougher'n you think fer,
an' I want ter work fer you. I ain't
never forgot how you-all give me a
home when pappy died. I jest natch-
uUy couldn't 'a went off, ye see, an'
left his grave up thar alone under the
pine trees."

Euthasia gently laid her rough
hand on his arm as she rose and said :

"Wal, ye better turn in now. Ef
Jeems 'lows fer us ter shear all them
sheep to-morrer we'll have ter git a
powerful airly start."

"Yes'm, I'll come purty quick," the
boy replied, and she left him bending
over his book, held close to the flick-
ering glow of the backlog.

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ISRAEL

The morning sun had not yet peeped
over the top of "Old Baldy" when
Jeems Fellers issued from tfie cabin
door, equipped for a long day's hunt.

"Euthasy," he growled, as he
stopped to lig^t his pipe, "you an'
Israel git right along now. I don't
want no lazin' 'round hyer. Them
sheep's got ter be done time I gits
back ter-night"

Gun on shoulder, he struck off into
the woods directly up the mountain
side without a backward glance or
otfier sign of farewdl. From long ex-
perience Euthasia knew that her hus-
band's will was law, so she wasted no
time on her household duties, but be-
gan as soon as possible on the work
he had laid out for her. With the help
of Israel only, who made up in manly
desire what he lacked in physical
strength, she caught, washed, and
clipped the heavy wool from the pa-
tient animals. It was tedious work,
and strive as she would, noon found
them with only four fleeces to show
for their six hours' labor. They
stopped then for a short rest and a
hasty mouthful of food. As they sat
wearily beside the table in the cabin,
a shadow fell a-thwart the doorway
and a cheery young voice called out:

"Howdy, Euthasyl Hello, Israel!
How you'all gittin' along?"

Israel's face fairly beamed as he
looked up at the girl standing before
them. And indeed she made a pretty
picture with her fresh, clear complex-
ion, so unlike that of most mountain
girls, and her bright hair, framed by
die blue sunbonnet which had slipped
back and was suspended from her
neck by the strings.

"Come in an' have a bite, Loviny,"
Euthasia said hospitably.

"I'm T)leeged ter ye, but I reckon I
cain't stop ter-day. We-uns has done
had our snack. I — I come over ter
see ef Israel 'ud help me tote some
books down the Ridge. I heered as
how Jeems was off a-huntin* an' I
knowed you wouldn't keer."

Israel lodced eagerly at Euthasia.

"Oh, kin I?" Then his face fell.
"No, I don't reckon as I kin, Loviny.
Wf ain't throu^ with the sheep yit,

an' we're 'bleeged ter finish 'fort
night"

Before the girl could reply, Eutha-
sia stood up and said with decision:

"You go along o* Loviny. I'm good
an' rested now an' kin work faster'n
you an' me together did this momin'.
I reckon I won't be much behind.
What books be they, Loviny?"

"Hit's a whole box full as is sent
out a-travelin' by them women's clubs
in the valley. Rufe done got 'em lent
ter me, knowin' how I liked readin'
when I was over ter Glen Mary ter
school. He cain't fotch 'em hisself,
ye know," the soft color stole into her
face and she cast a timid glance at the
old woman, who nodded grimly, "but
he 'lowed he'd carry 'em ter the top
o' the Divide ef me an' Israel could
git 'cm the rest o' the way down."

"Oh!" Israel jumped up excitedly.
"Do you reckon I mought take the
steer? I'd be awful keerful o' the
critter. Hit wouldn't take us long
that-a-way ter snake 'em down on the
lizard, an' then I'd git back in time ter
he'p you a heap."

"Wa-al," Euthasia pwidercd. "I
reckon 'twouldn't hurt none. Jeems
needn't never know we done it"

It was a happy pair who, a half
hour later, walked along the steep and
rocky road leading to the top of the
ridge which divided their remote set-
tlement from the populous valley on
the other side. The kindness and af-
fectionate sympathy of the young girl
was the brightest spot in Israel's for-
lorn life. Together they read and dis-
cussed in their simple way the few
books which fell into their hands.
They sat for long hours, when the boy
could steal away from his heavy tasks,
beside his father's lonely grave on the
hillside, and there, overcoming his
habitual reticence, he pour€;d into the
listening ears of his one friend the
aspirations which were beginning to
bud in his sensitive soul. Happy just
to be with her, he trudged along be-
side her this afternoon, not noticing
that her replies to his eager chatter
grew more and more brief and absent.
The girl's heart beat high in anticipa-
tion of an interview with Rufus, the

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sweetheart whom the tyrannous inter-
dict of his father forbade to return,
even for tfie shortest visit to his own
people.

They found the stalwart fellow
waiting for them at the top of the
Divide, and the box of books was soon
transferred to the lizard from the
wagon which Rufus had managed to
procure for the enterprise.

"Are you glad to get 'em, Loviny?"
he asked, taking her hands in his and
looking tenderly down into the sweet
face.

"You knows that, Rufe," shyly
withdrawing herself from his clasp,
half frightened by a demonstration
unusual in her people. "Me an' Is-
rael's lottin' on a good time with *em.
I wish't ye could ht thar ter share it,"
she added wistfully.

"Well, maybe pap'll see differently
some day and won't always think I'm
a thief and a rascal for tryin' to do
the things I like best. If he don't,"
he went on in a lower tone, "it won't
be long before I'll be fixed so as to
have you come to me."

"Oh, pshaw, now, Rufe! Air ye
shore ye hain't changed yer mind
'bouten all that?"

Israel's attention, fortunately for the
lovers just then, was given entirely to
the box on which he sat, trying to
pierce the boards with anticipatory
greediness.

"They must be more'n one of a kind
in thar," he thought, "fer shorely they
cain't be all that many different kinds
in the world!"

Rufus drew his sweetheart down be-
side him on the pine-needle carpeted
couch of the woods, where, forgetful
of the flight of time, they lost them-
selves in the confidences and oath-
binding of their kind. The sun was
casting long shadows athwart the val-
ley when at last Israel and Loviny,
nmking what haste they could with
the slow steer, reached Loviny's home
with their load. For all his hurry,
however, Israel failed to get back to
the sheep lot in time to he of much
servicer to Euthasia, and approaching
night found them with several of their
small flock still unshorn.

"Never mind, sonny," Euthasia
said kindly when they were at last
compelled to desist, "we'll jest finish
in the momin'. We'll tell Jeems we
done the best we could. Ef he's had
a good hunt he won't be mad."

As they neared their cabin they saw
Loviny running towards them with
flushed cheeks and happy eyes.

"Oh, Israel!" she cried, "them
books is jest the finest ever! An' I
want ye should see what else come in
the box with 'em." She held out a
half dozen prints of well-known pict-
ures, among them a Madonna by
Murillo, and a copy of Millet's An-
gelus.

Israel was as much excited as the
girl. Never before in his short life
had he seen anything so beautiful.
His experience of pictures was limited
to an occasional frontispiece in one of
his few books, or a cheap cut in the
newspapers which found their infre-
quent way into the secluded valley.
He seized eagerly upon the Madonna.
The sweet, tender, mother-love beam-
ing down upon the infant clasped in
her arms, struck a chord of sad memo-
ries which thrilled his lonely heart
with exquisite pain. Euthasia reached
for the Angelus.

"Let me see that air," she pleaded,
holding it close to her eyes in tiie light
of the fire she had kindled in the wide
chimney. "Hit looks like me an'
Jeems out a-plantin' in the spring.
Hit's the fust time I ever knowed a
person could pray while they's a-work-
in'. Say, Loviny, ye've got so many
o' them thar, would ye mind ef I kep'
this'n fer a spell ? I'll pin hit ag'in the
wall an' hit shain't come ter any hurt."

Israel looked up hungrily, holding
his Madonna close to him, but said
nothing.

"Why, course I don't keer! Ye're
welcome ter the whole lot of 'em ef
ye want 'em. Israel seems ter like
his'n purty well, too."

"No, ye cain't git shet of 'em that-a-
way!" A faint smile flickered across
Euthasia's face. "But ef ye don't
really mind me an' Israel a keepin' jest
them two, that's all we've got a right
ter ast."

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ISRAEL

After Loviny had gone they stood
locking at the pictures together, the
toil-worn hand of the grizzled old
woman resting on the shoulder of the
fair-haired boy.

"Ye 'lowed ye'd guzzle me 'bout the
steer, did ye?" Startled, they turned
to face the angry Jeems, who had come
unheard into the cabin and was now
standing behind them. "Consam ye
both I" he snarled, "who said ye could
use the critter? Crapshaw telled me
as I come by the blacksmith shop 'at
he seen that brat an' Loviny Williams
a-goin' by with 'im. What was ye
doin' with 'im, I wanter know ?"

Israel cowered, but the woman faced
the man in defense of the boy.

"I give him lief, Jeems Fellers!"
she said shortly. "He'd worked all
momin* — ^an' he's sech a leetle feller!
— an* I 'lowed hit didn't hurt nothin*
ter let 'im go off fer awhile ter help
Loviny tote some books — "

"Books! Who's been a-givin'
Loviny books?' They hain't gone
clear over the Ridge arter books, has
they?" His stem eyes fixed her,
threatening.

"Wa-al— no," she hesitated, "they
jest went as fur as the top o' the
Divide,"

"Who fotched *em to the Divide?"

"Wal, ef ye must know, Rufe!"
She put her hands on her hips and re-
garded him defiantly. "He got a pas-
sel o' them travelin' books from some
women in town — "

The man's square jaw set with an
angry snap. "I've done told ye that
ef Rufe comes foolin' 'round hyer I'll
kill 'im. An* ye better tell that crazy
gal o' his'n that ef I hear o' any more
o' her goin's on with 'im, she'll have
ter leave the Settlemint! As fer Is-
rael—"

Too excited to be observant, he saw
nothing of the beckoning hand at the
door, nor noted that his wife slipped
out into the dusk.

"Rufe's hurt," said the neighbor
who stood outside. She pushed him
away from the house.

"Don't let his pappy hear! Whar
is he ? Jeems is in one o' his rages —

he ain't 'countable — oh, I'm plum
skeered !"

"This is the nearest place, an*
Crapshaw 'lowed he'd fotch him hyer
in his wagon ef I'd come ahead an'
warn you-all. We found 'im— "

"Rufe dassent be brung hyer ter-
night, I tell ye ! We got ter head that
wagon off ! Jeems 'ud nigh about kill
'im ef he kotched him hyer!" Their
hurrying forms were swallowed up in
the darkness.

Inside the cabin the eyes of the un-
suspecting tyrant turned toward Is-
rael, who in shrinking back against the
wall, called his attention to the pict-
ures pinned to the log above his head.
He reached up and jerked them from
their fastenings. The boy clutched
his arm and clung to it tenaciously.

"Oh, d(m't tear hit! Hit looks like
my mammy. She useter hold me like
that an' sing 'Beulah Land.' "

With an oath, the infuriated man
tried to fling the boy from him, but
he held tight, reaching up with his
free hand to rescue his prize. Holding
it high above Israel's head to keep it
from him, Jeems brought it to the
level of his own vision. His gaze
was arrested by the sweet woman-
face, and something, he knew not
what, in the pose and expression,
awakened a long forgotten memory.
So had looked his Mary, the first love
of his boyhood, the wife of his youth ;
just so had she held in her arms her
boy, their son Rufus, and sung to him
— what was it Israel had said? — ^yes,
"Beulah Land." His heart was
gripped with pain and the chords in
his throat ached with the intensity of
his feeling. His Mary ! Not for years
had the ghost of his old love risen be-
fore him. Not in the long course of
the sin-hardened years since Mary
died — so young! — and left him alone
with their baby boy, the strong, bright
little chap whom he had driven from
home with imprecations because he
could not bend him to his will, had the
depths of his nature been so stirred
by the emotion which now welled up
within him like a tidal wave. Across
his perturbed thought flitted the vis-
ion of Euthasia, the unloved woman,

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whom he had married and brought to
the cabin to care for the little Rufus.
She had borne him sons and daugh-
ters, too, but they were to him only so
many "hands" to help run the small
farm, until one by one they had left
him in rebellion. Where was his boy
to-night? Had he come to hate his
old daddy for all his harshness to
him? His eyes fell on Israel, and the
look of wonder on the boy's face
abashed him. He would have spoken,
but the clutch in his throat prevented.
Lowering his arm, he handed the pict-
ures to the frightened child and went
swiftly out of the cabin. For an hour
he walked fiercely up and down the
road, driven by the lash of a late re-
pentance he could not quell. At last,
exhausted, he threw himself under the
great white oak tree in the dooryard,
and leaning back against its ancient
trunk, stared fixedly at the solemn
stars above him. In some mysterious
manner their soft rays seemed to per-
meate his troubled soul, dissolving as
in an alembic, the harshness which had
been incrusting it through the long
years. The man beneath the oak felt
new sight given him — clearer, truer
vision. Unreasoning, he lay in the
hollow of a great crisis, rocked upon
it, moulded, changed and softened by
influences he could not have named.
The possibilities of his youth, of
Mary's lover, seemed to come back
and whisper to him that it was not yet
too late to live again as he had lived
in that happier time.

The wagon, crawling along the
road, creaked closer and closer, until
its groaning could not fail to pierce

even his dulled consciousness. He
rose suddenly, and the wagon stopped.
To his astonishment he beheld the tall
form of his wife stalking beside it.

"Euthasia! What in thunder?—"

Shaken with fear, the woman leaned
against the wheel.

"Hit's Rufe, Jeems," she stam-
mered. "He was throwed outen his
wagon t'other side the Divide, an' he's
awful bad hurt. They was fotchin'
him hyer 'fore I knowed it, so I went
to meet 'em, an' we're carryin' him ter
Loviny's."

"Loviny nothin' ! He's my boy an'
he comes hyer!" Jeems lifted in his
own strong arms the son upon whose
face he had for years refused to look,
and carried him tenderly into the
cabin.

When the young man lay in his own
home, too weak and weary to question
the why of his welcome, his father
said to Euthasia in a kinder tone than
she had ever heard him use:

"Euthasy, I hain't alius used ye jest
right, an' I reckon I hadn't no call
ter drive Rufe off on account o' the
lamin'. He kin stay hyer, an' ye kin
tell Loviny that ef she's still petted on
him she kin wed him 's soon 's he gits
well. I hain't got nothin' ter say agin
it no more. As fer the leetle chap,"
he pointed to Israel, who, awakened
by the confusion, was sitting up in
bed, clasping his Madonna to his
bosom and staring about him with
blinking eyes, "we'll git up a school
fer him an' let Rufe teach it ef he
wants ter. I 'low I'm able ter do fer
'em both — fer Mary's sake," he added
under his breath.

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A REMINISCENCE

By Maurice Smiley

AM not going to ar-
Egue whether I did
|right or wrong from a
professional point of
/iew. There are few
^questions which have-
n't two sides to them.
Possibly this, case had
only one, or at the best
was lop-sided, by rea-
son of the fact that
professional prudence would have
suggested that I take a course oppo-
site to that which I did take.

As I said in the beginning, I am not
going to argue the point To be frank
with you, a fello.w in my fix hasn't
room for argument. At the present
writing I am not living in a flat. It's
worse than even that, and that is bad
enough, goodness knows.

I am sitting in a cosy little apart-
ment which is provided free of charge
by the state, and my cell mate is snor-
ing peacefully in his bunk. Never
mind whether it's Sing-Sing or Joliet.
Enough that I feel in a reminiscent
mood and want to tell you of a little
incident which occurred a year or so
ago, and which interested me chiefly
b^use the lights and shadows were
so strongly contrasted. It was funny
and a bit tragic at the same time.

Never mind how I got started on
my career of appropriating other peo-
ple's property. Thank goodness I am
not a trust magnate nor a high insur-
ance official. I can get down on my
marrow bone^ at night and say my lit-
tie "now-I-lay-me-downs" with a
clear conscience on that score. They
can't bring any such charges as that
against me.

It may sound like a story, but I had
a wife and child once, bade there in
the old days. No, booze didn't break

up the little home. There wasn't any
man in the case — ^nothing of that. I
guess there was a yellow streak in me
somewhere. I am not going to blame
whisky for what I did with my eyes
wide open. I just threw away all the
chances to be good and honest and
hold my head up like other men. I
just naturally brdce her heart, but I
am thankful that she found a man
who appreciated her as she ought to
have been af^reciated, and vrtio is
making a good father to the little one.
I saw him the other day. He came
through on a tour of inspection. He
is the prosecuting attorney who put
me here, but I don't bear him any ill
will.

Seems to me I am a long time get-
ting down to my reminiscence. But
I can't help it. A fellow will ramble
a bit when he has so many things to
think about.

Well, I lost all track of my former
wife and little one. You see, my resi-
dence was changed several times, for
officious sheriffs from other places
kept sending in their cards from time
to time. But at last I could look them
all in the face — until the next time. I
got back to where I had once lived,
and after looking over the ground
with a professional eye, I picked out
a certain "crib" which looked promis-
ing. It had the hall-marks of desira-
bility, and one evening shortly after
midnight I let myself in and soon got
the lay of the land.

I found out where the silver was,
and then I turned my attention to the
proprietors of the establishment. By
cautious inquiries I found that they
were sweetly slumbering in their
apartment on the second floor. With
a practised hand I injected a sufficient
quantity of chloroform into the at-

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

mosphere to insure their sleeping
soundly until at least 6 o'clodc that
morning.

Then I made my way down stairs
and for half an hour or so I got busy
with the silver and other portables
of value, not forgetting a well stocked
sideboard and refrigerator.

I was just about to bid the prem-
ises a reluctant adieu when I was
startled by a sound that puzzled me at
first. Then something seemed to
come before my eyes and into my
throat, and for an instant I was good
and honest, as well as poor, and al-
most involuntarily I was about to call
my wife and tell her— well, never
mind what I was going to tell her.
That's a little bit private. All that
you need to know is that the sound I
had heard was that of a child cough-
ing and struggling and gasping and
chdcing in that awful way a little
child has when it is seized with a
sudden and bad attack of croup. I
had heard that sound before — ^back
there in the old days.

That was the psychological moment
in the job. I could have slipped quiet-
ly out of the house and made my get-
away. Professional prudence bade me
do it and lose no time about it.

Leave the child to its fate? Oh, no,
I never had any thought of that. I
am not quite so hardened— even yet.
There were servants back in the quar-
ters which were in the rear of the
house. I could have given an alarm
and got away all right. They would
have discovered that a burglary had
been committed and that their master
and mistress had been drugged. But
I should have been well away, and I
had little doubt the women folks could
have taken care of the child better
than I could. I had not calculated on
a child disarranging my plans. But
I have always been glad of it.

The parents were in a stupor from
which tfiey would not rouse for some
hours. They were the natural and
best nurses. But with them out of the
question and the servants eliminated
by something that came into my heart
— I don't know what it was, some lit-
tle flutter of the wings of my good

angel; some turning around and &c-
ing the old honest time ; some flaming
up of the finer spark that was flick-
ering, flaring up and then sadly
dying on the altars of my soul — some-
thing that the preachers might have
explained, decided me to play the
nurse myself.

By great good fortune I found in
the kitchen in a hurried search the
materials for some plain home reme-
dies and with a feeling for which
burglars very rarely have any use I
mounted the stairs to the nursery. I
opened the door, and then, as the vi-
sion of a golden-haired little one met
my eyes, I started back with a cry.

I told you before that I had lost all
track of my former wife and child,
didn't I?

No this was not the child, nor was
the drugged woman in the other room
my former wife. I am not telling
a magazine story, where you can fix
things up to suit yourself, so they will
pretty or weepy as the case may be.
This is a reminiscence and to be of any
value it must be truthful.

The child didn't even lock like
mine, though it was about my little
one's age. I was simply startled to
see that she was in a frightfully bad
way, even though I had not been more
than two or three minutes making my
preparations. The delay of five min-
utes would have cost the baby her life.
She might have been three years old,
but all little children are babies to me
since —

Without going into details I will
say that the next ten minutes were the
busiest I ever put in in all my life;
and in fifteen minutes from the time I
came into the room the little one was
resting quite easily, her golden head
against my shoulder and one chubby
hand fast in mine. I knew it would be
dangerous to leave her for an hour or
so, and I thought I was pretty safe
from interruption.

But I had reckoned without my host
— supposing I could properly call my-
self the gfuest of the man of the house.

Maybe he hadn't breathed as much
of the chloroform as his wife, or his
constitution had shaken it off more

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A REMINISCENCE

easily, and he had been roused by the
noise I had made. At any rate, he
had jumped out of bed, and there he
was standing in the door of the nur-
sery, wild-eyed, horrified, fighting des-
perately to shake oflf the remaining ef-
fects of the chloroform, not knowing
what it all meant, but believing that
some terrible fate menaced his child.
With an inarticulate cry, he lurched
toward me in a blind, instinctive ef-
fort to save her. The poor chap
thou^t I was trying to kidnap her.

I hated to do it, but I had to pro-
tect myself. I dropped the baby gen-
tly on the bed, and then I was on the
father like a flash. But I wasn't rough
with him. He put up a great fight
for a man in his condition. Once he
broke away from me and running into
the hall he set off some sort of a bur-
glar alarm which I suppose connected
with the police station just around the
comer.

I had to be a little rough after that,
and in two minutes I had him trussed
up as securely as a Thanksgiving tur-
key. I was just slipping a gag into
his mouth when I heard the police
running up the street.

That made the situation desperate.
I had less than four minutes to get
out an unfamiliar back way, probably
guarded by that time. To go out the
front way in my present get-up was
to run into the arms of the main body.

I usually go provided for emergen-
cies. I had a false beard in my pock-
et, and the long black beard worn by
my host gave me an idea.

"Very sorry, I am sure," I whis-
pered hurriedly in his ear, "but I must
relieve you of those whiskers."

I dashed into the next room for his
razor, and I think I gave him the rec-
ord shave of his life. I didn't give
him any bay mm or any of the trim-

ming, and I didn't gossip very much
with him. It couldn't have been more
than two minutes before all that was
left of his beautiful black beard was a
ragged stubble that made him locdc
tougher than I had ever done in all my
life. He had his trousers on, so I
gave him my coat to make him more
presentable, replenishing my own
wardrobe from the hall rack.

I wasn't much disturbed when I re-
flected that my false whiskers were a
glossy brown. My ma^ I threw over
his face and cnunmed my cap on his
head, snatching a hat from the hall
rack.

All this takes a long time in the tell-
ing, but things happened rapidly in
reality, and when the police first thun-
dered on the door I was ready for
them. I ran down the stairs and agi-
tatedly welcomed them.

"He's upstairs," I gasped, breath-
ing hard. "I've got him all right !"

I accompanied the officers to the
second floor and pointing to the des-
perate villain in the comer I exclaimed
exultingly :

"I had a hard fight, officers, but I
think I did a pretty good job. But
I must run out to the dmg store while
you are getting him ready to take to
the station. My little girl is quite
sick." ^

"You sure did a good job," chuck-
led the officer in command. "He's a
tough looking customer, and no mis-
take."

I hastily left them hustling my host
about, and running into the dining
room I gathered up my pile, and that
is the last I ever saw of the man at
104 Avenue A.

But I have always been glad that I
saved the kid.

In now for that job, after all? No,
that's another story.

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SOME SOUTHERN WRITERS

WILL S. HAYS
By G. E. Johnson

"Let me write the songs of a people —
I cafe not who writes their laws."

GOD inspires His singers in
various ways — each sings aft-
er his own fashion ; there are
those who are attuned to high things
and whose splendid imaginations are
above the comprehension of the
masses; some whose lutes respond
only to the touch of fame or gold,
ambition or selfishness; some who
commune with nature and forget na-
ture's God and that poor suffering hu-
manity which they turn away like an-
gels from their door. All these have
their admirers, those who but faintly
comprehend them, and who, fired by
immortal longings, follow after them
in the pursuit of the unattainable.

And then again God has fashioned,
some singers whose music wells hot
from the heart, whose ready sympa-
thies bring them close to the people,
whose inspiration is the sigh of love,
the tear of pity, the echo of prayer,
the simple, tender things of every-day
life and every-day men and women.
They care little for money, fame or
ambition; they sing even as they
breathe, and every breath is music.
Their hearts are like an aeolian harp,
which echoes back the sigh of every
passing breeze. They make the suf-
fering, the joy, the hopes, the dreams
of others their own, and so they pass
along the ways of every day, scatter-
ing songs as they go like roses from
the bending boughs of spring.

These are God's best and truest sing-
ers, and of these Will S. Hays was
one. Born on the banks of the beau-
tiful Ohio River seventy years ago

(July 19, 1837), he absorbed rcwnance
and poetry and sentiment, to which his
wonderful versatility early gave ex-
pression. He had a rare faculty for
writing verse, and he had the still rarer
gift of being able to fit melody to his
verses. While in his teens he wrote
one song, "Evangeline," that would
have brought fame and fortune to any
man who cared for these things. Sim-
ple, honest, great-hearted, with a love
for people and nature, Will Hays cared
naught for glory or pelf. He loved to
write, and he cared not what became
of his work after he had written it.

In his life. Will Hays wrote more
than three hundred songs that were
published, and many of these became
popular. Probably his most famous
song was '*Mollie Darling," two mil-
lion copies of this being sold. Preced-
ing and during the Civil War, he wrote
many songs that were popular in the
Southland. "My Southern Sunny
Home" was written in New Orleans,
while the author was a prisoner of war.
"The Wandering Refugee," '*Write
Me a Letter from Home," "Old-
fashioned Roses Are Sweetest," "Nora
O'Neal," "Shamus O'Brien," were all
written about the time of the war, or
just after. "Signal Bells at Sea" was
Hays' last popular song, published
about ten years ago. Although Dan
Emmett is the reputed author of "Dix-
ie," historical facts prove that Will
Hays wrote the first "Dixie" songs —
and the one that became the battle
hymn of the South — two or three
years before Emmett's words were
written or published.

Will Hays was always interested in

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SOME SOUTHERN WRITERS

the river, and, like Mark Twain, he
served an apprenticeship as a pilot, but,
unlike Oemens, he graduated and for
some years was a pilot on the Ohio
and Mississippi rivers. He later be-
came a captain, and spent many years
on the big passenger steamers. He
loved the river, and he could never for-
get the past greatness of river inter-
ests, always lamenting the departed
glory with real grief.

In 1858 he began writing river news
for Louisville papers, and he continued
this work until the end. When he re-
tired from the water, he became river
editor for the Courier- Journal, and
he made of his department the most
interesting as well as the most novel
published by any paper. He hated
shams and fads, and he interspersed
his river news with philosophy and

WILL S. HAYS, AT HIS DESK IN THE COURIER- JOURNAL OFFICE

verse ridiculing these things. The
philosophy of "Old Ike" attracted
much attention, as did the antics of
"O'Grady's Goat."

About three years ago, Will Hays
suffered a stroke of paralysis. A sec-
ond stroke came a few months later,
and the third early in July last. For
a few days he lingered, then, on July
23, four days after his seventieth birth-
day, his gentle soul passed upward. No
more fitting tribute could be paid him
than to quote one of his own poems,
written on the death of an old friend,
Captain James Howard:

"He has launched his last boat and got in
it alone.
And sailed to that beautiful clime,
Wihere angels are waiting to welcome him
home,
On the banks of the river of Time.
He will land by himself in Eternity's port,
Then put the boat out on the
shore.
And quietly walk through the
beautiful gates.
And never come back any
more.
We trust that some angel will
show him the way
That leads to the great
throne of Grace,
Where God in his mercy will
give him a seat,
And smile on his time-
wrinkled face.
If ever a man was true, hon-
est and kind,
We think it was old 'Uncle
Jim;'
And if God has a home and a
crown for good men,
He will certainly give them
to him."

Will Hays' lyric gift be-
came most widely known
through the charm of his
song, "MoUie Darling."
This appeared about 1870.
More than two million cop-
ies have been sold, and there
is still an occasional demand
for it. Colonel Hays told
the story of this song re-
cently. He was stopping at
the Monongahela House in
Pittsburg, and had just re-
tired. Outside his room in
the dark hall he heard whis-
pering, and now and then

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

could distinguish a word or two.
Then a little louder came a ques-
tion in a rich Irish voice, "Do you
love me, Mollie, darling?" There
was no verbal response, but the un-
mistakable smack of a kiss came
through the door, then a scurrying of
feet. Next morning when Colonel
Hays was dressing he found himself
humming a line, "Do you love me,
Mollie, darling?" unconsciously fitting
it to music. Out in the hall on the
way down to breakfast, he met a rosy-
dieeked, blue-eyed Irish lass, who
smiled at him. He asked her name,
and she gave it as Mollie. After
breakfast he returned to his room, and
in half an hour went to the parlor and
played and sang the song just as it is
printed to-day :

"Won't you tell me, Mollie darling,
That you love none else but me?
For I love you, Mollie, darling.
You are all the world to me.

CHORUS

'*Mollie, fairest, sweetest, dearest.
Look up, darling, tell me this:
Do you love me, Mollie, darling?
Let your answer be a kiss."

Hays' first successful popular song
was the world-wide known "Evangel-
ine," and the story of its inspiration is
a pretty one. He was visiting at the
residence of Robert D. Mallory, the
famous secession Congressman from
Kentucky, who lived in Oldham Coun-
ty, about thirty-five miles from Louis-
ville. There was a happy party of
young guests assembled, and real Ken-
tucky hospitality flowed. One night the
young people went to a ball at a neigh-
boring house, upon the wall of which
young Hays saw, for the first time, a
steel engraving of Longfellow's
mournful heroine, sitting with clasped
hands gazing out over the sea. That
picture is now in everybody's eye. It
took possession of the young composer
on that night. When the young cou-
ples were walking home over the
moonlit road he was humming the air
and the words of the first verse :

"Sweet Evangeline, my lost Evangeline,
We have lived and loved each other fond
and true;

Ever true to thee, tho' far away I've been«
My heart has ever dwelt with you.

But O, those happy days will ne'er return.
Those happy days that we have teen.

For I am left to weep alone,
My sweet Evangeline."

The girls teased him to sing it and
teach it to them, and while strolling
along they came to a heap of charred
embers, where some slaves had been
roasting some ears of com. A new
white plank fence ran along one side
of the road, and upon the planks the
young composer wrote the words and
music with charred sticks, and the
group marched up and down before
the impromptu music-stand singing the
verse. Next day Hays polished the
song, added a chorus and an additional
verse. Up to that time no one had
much of an opinion of Hays' song.
He kept the manuscript of "Evangd-
ine" for some time, after having it de-
clined with thanks by several publish-
ers. Finally, one night in Qeveland,
he concluded to go on in the first part
of SkiflF & Gaylord's minstrels. He
had a beautiful voice, and for experi-
ment determined to sing "Evangeline."
It made a hit and was then published.
Over a million copies of the song were
sold before its popularity began to
wane.

That Will S. Hays wrote the first
"Dixie" song, there is no doubt. Dan-
iel Decatur Emmett received credit for
the song and for the music as well.
Neither Hays nor Emmett really wrote
the music. Shortly before his death,
Will Hays told the writer the story
of "Dixie," and it was verified by his-
torical facts. Colonel Hays said:

"I was clerking in the music store
of D. P. Faulds in Louisville in 1857,
when one day Mr. Faulds received a
sheet of music from somewhere in the
South. It bore a simple title, pen
written, 'From Dixie.' Charles Ward,
also a clerk in the store, took the mu-
sic and ran over it on a piano. Mr.
Faulds liked the swing of it, and he
remarked that he thou^t it would go
if words could be fitted. He asked me
if I could write the verses, and I stood
up and wrote on the end of the piano
on a piece of ordinary wrapping paper.

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SOME SOUTHERN WRITERS

as Charlie Ward played the music."
This was the first "Dixie" song.

Colonel Hays could not remember
all the words, but he repeated a few
lines of the original. They were these :

"Dixie Ian* am de Ian' ob cotton,
Ciimamon seed an' sandy bottom,

Look away, look away,
Look away down South in Dixie/'

The chorus ran thus :

"I wish I was in Dixie, hi ho, hi ho.
In Dixie Ian' I'll take my stan'

To lib an' die in Dixie.
Hi ho, hi ho, I'll lib an' die in Dixie.
Hi ho, hi ho, I'll lib an' die in Dixie."

There was a line in the song refer-
ring to "vinegar shoes and paper
stockings," in addition to the "cinna-
mon seed and sandy bottom" line.
Colonel Hays explained these rather
enigmatical lines with the statement
that at the Saturday evening frolics of
the slaves, when they wore shoes, the
cinnamon seed falling in the sand,
and the combination getting in the
shoes, would harden them, and the ne-
groes used vinegar instead of oil to
soften them. They placed paper in
the soles of the shoes, not wearing
stockings or socks at all. This is his-
torically correct.

As stated, this was in 1857, before
the war. Early in 1861, after the war
began, Hays revised the song, and
made of it the hymn of the Confed-
eracy, and it was this new "Dixie" that
really swept the South. The Buckner
Guards, a Confederate company or-
ganized in Louisville, was leaving for
the South. Charles Ward, a friend of
Will Hays, was in the Guards, and he
organized a glee club. Hays dedi-
cated his new "Dixie" to this club.
The words, as near as Colonel Hays
could recall, were like this :

"Wc gwine down to de Ian' ob cotton.
Cinnamon seed an' sandy bottom,

Away, away, we gwine down to Dixie.
We gwine to take our guns along.
We gwine to fight an' sing dis song.
Away down South in Dixie."

The words of the original song, and
the revised one, differ entirely from
the "Dixie" sung to-day, and credited

to Dan Emmett- Emmett's song was
written in i860, and published by Wm.
A. Pond & Co., New York. The first
heard of this song in the South was
in 1861 or 1862, when Colonel Pond
wrote Mr. D. P. Faulds and claimed
that he had infringed on Pond's copy-
righted "Dixie." Mr. Faulds denied
this, and stated the circumstances as
detailed above. He also claimed that
while Colonel Pond might be entitled
to a copyright on the words of the
song as written by Emmett, he cer-
tainly was not entitled to a copyright
on the music, and he proved conclu-
sively that the music was common
property in the South, that it was
brought from England fifty or more
years before, and had been sung by
negroes on plantations and steamboats
for years. The English song to the
some music began :

"If I was a soldier wouldn't I go," etc.

Still later, the music was fitted to a
parody, and the children of even this
day sometimes sing it :

"If I had a donkey as wouldn't go,

I wouldn't beat him— Oh, no, no, no," etc.

Will Hays wrote the original "Dix-
ie" song in 1857, and revised it in
1 861. This was the song that became
famous throu^out the South. Dan
Enmiett wrote the song that is sung
to-day. Emmett's song lasted, not
because the words were the best, but
because the Hays song was a war
song, and it died with the war. In all
fairness, however, it can be said that
the words of neither are good, and
"Dixie" would have been forgotten
long ago except for the stirring music.

Daniel Decatur Emmett died in
1904, at his home in Mount Vernon,
Ohio, aged eighty years.

There was always a touch of pathos
in Hays' negro poems. His dialect
was perfect, and he understood the
negro character. "Dan'l an' His
Dog" is an old darky's lament over
the loss of his hound :

"I hearn he was in Mem f us once, an* gwan

'bout de street
A-lookin' wid a mournful eye at ebery man

he'd meet:

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

He'd allcrs drap his head an' tail w'eneber

he would see
How disappointed dat he wuz to find it wus-

n't me."

One Sunday morning Will Hays
stood and watched the fashionable
crowd entering a new and magnificent
church in Louisville. "The Modern
Meetin' House" came next morning.
It tells of a plain old countryman who
visited the city church :

"The meetin' house was built of stone, the

steeple p'inted high;
The winders they wus painted all the col-
ors of the sky;
An* runnin' up that steeple wus a great

long lightnin' rod —
I kinder thought ther members lacked a
confidence in God.

**I went along *bout half-way down the vel-
vet kyarpet 'lie;
The men an' wimmen shet their gates, an'
*ud kinder, sorter smile;
I seed one open jest a bit, went in an'

pulled it to —
Wen some big feller sed to me, 'this
here's a rented pew.'

"I got out, tuk my hat an' coat, an' sot

down hear the door;
Expectin* for sum man ter say, 'this 'ere's

a rented floor.'

"The parson quit and then sot down — the

orgin played agfin;
I thought ef that was servin' God, the tunes
they played wus thin;
I've hearn the bands at circusses jest

play the selfsame air;
The parson, when the orgin quit, dis-
missed *em all with pra'r."

The poem entitled "There, Little
Boy, Don't Cry," is expressive of Will
Hays' sympathy for children, especial-
ly for those of the under world. One
cold, wintry day he saw a little news-
boy on the street crying, with an arm-
ful of papers. He bought a paper, and
immediately his heart sympathy found
expression and he gave to the world :

"There, little boy, don't cry;
I know that you must be cold,
As you stand on the street
In the snow and the sleet.
With none of your papers sold;
But I'll take one as I'm passing by —
There, little boy, don't cry."

Will Hays was always a poet of the
heart. In all his work there was a ten-
derness, a touch of gentleness, that ap-

pealed. Especially was this the case
in his poems to or about children.

"When God gives earth a little child,

He bids it go and roam;
And when 'tis tired of the world,
He calls the loved one home."

Thus he wrote in a message of con-
solation to a young mother, whose
precious and only baby had been tak-
en away.

One of the best as well as the most
touching of his poems, was on the
death of Captain J. M. White, an old
friend and companion on the river:

"Say, pilot, I am going with them

Up yonder through that gate;
I'll not come back — you ring the bell
And back her out — don't wait.

"For I have made the trip of life,
And found my landing place;
I'll take my soul and anchor that
Fast to the Throne of Grace."

Several years ago Will Hays was se-
riously ill in an infirmary in Louis-
ville. Captain J. L. Lewis, of Pitts-
burg, called on him, and told Will he
feared he would not survive. Calling
for a paper and pencil, Will wrote
"Who Cares?"

"When I am sick and sad at heart.

Who cares ?
And all the joys of life depart,

WTio cares?
When sorrow makes me bow my head
I wish for rest in death's cold bed —
How soon I'd be forgotten— dead —

Who cares?

I feel like I was all alone —

Who cares?
With all my hopes forever flown —

Who cares?
Oh how much gladder I would be
If I the end of lif« could see —
Know when the grave would swallow

Who cares?

No loving lips, no gentle voice —

Who cares?
To bid me live, hope or rejoice —

Who cares?
None to let true friendship dwell
Within the heart, or love me well,
Or care, were I in heaven or hell —

Who cares?

When lips like mine refuse to speak.

Who cares?
And teardrops trickle down my cheek-

Who cares?
And if I pray, for my soul's sake,

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SOME SOUTHERN WRITERS 89

No comfort get, no pleasure take, and songs indicate this. In "Save

Though my poor heart should bleed and Qne Bright Crown for Me" he shows

^^^^"who cares? ^^e heart cry for the Divine Spirit :

TM, ,.f^ . ^ u K "Oh! Thou Omnipotent, Most High!

1 11 lift mme eyes to heaven above- g^j^j ^^ ^^^ ^^^^ j ^^^^^,

U-. «;f5Ac fr.z2fr.^^V'u 1^^-^ Loo^ <iown with pitying eye on me;

He pities me-for He is love- ^^ ^^^1 ^^ jy^^^ j ^ring.

„. "^^ ^^^f' ,,,, With troubled heart and tearful eyes,

His mercy and his love FU crave; j ^^ ^^ bended knees

He will forgive, my soul he'll save, ^^ ^^ ^^3^ welcome strangers home

I dont fear death, hell nor the grave- 5^^^ ^„^ y^^-^^ ^rown for me.
Cioa cares.

CHORUS

Will Hays was a real Christian. He ,,, , , j .1. o-u t r^ ^

^ J ^4. r xi. r J • Ye angels round the Throne of Grace,

cared not for the forms and ceremonies ^^J i ^^^^ ^ome to thee,

of reli^on, but in his heart there was !„ pity hear, oh ! hear my prayer,

a deep reverence. His religious poems Oh, save a crown for me.**

DREAMLAND

Her soul swings out and far away,

Over unmeasured deeps h floats
Thro' mists and changing clouds of gray

To Arden's groves and castled moats.

Beneath the trees whose sylvan shade

O'erspreads the emerald carpet green.
Not e'en the g^rove where Daphne strayed

Portrayed a brighter, fairer scene.

From pillared porch and marble hall

Tall forms with stately tread emerge,
And down the steps thin footstei)s fall

With cadence solemn as a dirge.

And on the terrace sloping down

She sees them stand, and o'er the sea
They beckon swiftly with their hands,

But answering forms she cannot see.

Whence do they come, whence do they go,

These stately forms of noble mien ?
Where are the gardens of her dreams ?

Where is the sunlit tropic scene

That fades away when rosy dawn.

Climbs up the East with long bright rays
And Phoebus' chariot brings the morn,

Where soars the lark with lifting lays ?

/. AT. Collins.

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OAK LODGE

AN IDEAL COTTAGE HOME AT
AN IDEAL COST

By Irene Bowser

Illustrated with photographs by Lou A. Clark, Jr.

DID you ever read in the wom-
en's journals how to build a
lovely little gable-roofed,
bow-windowed, rustic cottage, set in
a trim, laurel-fenced plot, for a few
hundred dollars? Did you ever look
at the pictured product and dream
dreams rioting in artistic stained shin-
gles and roses and honeysuckles ex-
tracted from a modest purse? And
did you ever take one of the freely-
offered plans to a contractor and get
his figures? Did you compare the
two estimates? Then did you call
the author of the rose-colored article
a name that the sanctimonious editor
of the helpful journal would never,

never permit to appear in his steril-
ized pages? You probably, in the
bitterness of your disappointment,
squandered your hoarded savings on
open-air concerts and other cash-en-
ticing devices which lure the flat-dwel-
ler to attempt to forget he is spend-
ing the summer in the heart of a
sweltering city. Or else you allowed
yourself to be drawn into the purchase
of an artistic bungalow in a crowded
suburb, whose inconveniences were
balanced by the number of extra
charges in the transfer papers.

Oak Lodge is neither the realiza-
tion of a paper dream, nor the ready-
made substitute built by a suburb prO'

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AN IDEAL COTTAGE HOME

moter. In its original form it was a
one-room log cabin in a forest clearing,
which took the eye of a young man
wand(,ring in search of summer pleas-
ure and health. It is thirteen miles
from the nearest railway station, and
this fact alone would have made it
undesirable property to any but an
energetic, resourceful man.

The cabin purchased and renovated,
fences, well and outhouses repaired,
given his time
It of the house.
1 porch, now a
ived, the house
by vacation, to
jssing in every
viduality of the
few

and mantels are of plain boards, oth-
ers are of burnt wood. The window-
seat, so in keeping with the walls, the
hearth and the rafters, is a really
handsome piece, and, the boards being
a present, represents no greater out-
lay of actual cash than thirty cents'
worth of weathered oak stain. An
hour's vigorous rubbing not only gave
the seat a fine polish, but gave the
maker a fine set of healthy muscles as
well.

One of the ingenious devices of the
clever-fingered, nimble-witted home-
maker is a folding-bed arrangement,
which wears by day a mask of cre-
tonne curtain, depending from a plate
rack or mantel. At night the with-

1 the

were

\ aid
of friendly farmer neigh-
bors, and the chimneys
grew under the direction
of one of these, and the la-
bor of a . good-natured
"country nigger," who
worked out the wide fire-
places, with their broad
pillars and comfortable
seats on either side for
such fees as a "mess uv
greens" and sundry arti-
cles of clothing. The broad
fireplaces, furnished with
quaint, bowlegged andi-
rons, obtained by barter with the old
residents, are never filled with pots of
wild flowers, nor hidden by screens,
for in this wildwood spot sudden,
cool showers are to be expected, and
the nights are frequently cool enough
to make a log fire of more than pic-
turesque value.

The interior walls have had the sur-
face of the logs planed down to
smoothness, and nothing done to hide
the grain of the oak. The cracks
have been filled with plaster, and the
shelves, passe-partout-mounted pic-
tures, curtains and draperies have
been made and placed during the
evening hours. Some of the shelves

THE DINING-ROOM

drawing of the mask reveals a set of
bed-springs furnished with short,
stout supports, hinged on. Mattress
and pillows, made from the feathers
of Oak Lodge chickens, and herb-
scented sheets are drawn from a win-
dow-seat, and the skimber-wooing
couch is ready. There are several of
these folding beds, one being a "dou-
ble-decker," the upper one supported
from the ceiling by stout hooks and
chains. These make possible an al-
most unlimited hospitality. The bed
of state is an antique four-poster, res-
urrected from a long retirement in
company with the spinning wheel, in
a farmer's "lumber room." It is still

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THE BEST BEDROOM

furnished with "rope springs." For
this bed the owner insisted on having
a sweeping valance, as its staid digni-
ty, he declared, could not brook the
immodesty of a **rainy day skirt"
effect. The quilts, pieced from
innumerable tiny scraps of calico into
"star," "crown," "pineapple" and

AN AFTERNOON READING AT OAK

"rising sun" designs, are the handi-
work of the women on the neighbor-
hood. During his winter absence at
his work the young man never fails
to remember his rural neighbors with
mementoes which, while of small in-
trinsic or separate value, relieve their
long winters and brighten their hori-
zon in ways unguessed.
These sincere folks are al-
ways eager, therefore, to
contribute their "fixin's"
to the furnishing of Oak
Lodge. The curtains for
the windows and beds, the
table covers and other
household linen, whose
fashioning is beyond the
ability of even the most ac-
complished of men, are the
work of appreciative fair
guests, for Oak Lodge is
a kind of "Friendship
Club," and partakes in no
respect of the nature of a
LODGE recluse's dwelling. One

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AN IDEAL COTTAGE HOME 93

party after another succeeds to its they lie in wait to tempt the energetic

hospitality, and long days are spent in into a drowsy moment in the ham-

the woods and on the stream. Camp mock, and they smile in open invita-

Hfe is the ofder of housekeeping, and tion from the top step,
the open-air meals give an added fla- Oak Lodge is, as may be seen,

vor to the fatness of the country. not a model to win a prize as **an ar-

V'ines and hardy flowers have been tistic bungalow under $5,000;" nor is

planted, and rustic seats and ham- it an old house remodeled, with the

mock hooks put up. Perhaps the help of a hammer and a hairpin, into a

most important article of supply is modern home. It is a practical ex-

that of cushions. Pillows large and pression of the ability of one man to

pillows small, pillows plain and fancy, make a comfortable home at a very

all durable and all inviting, are heaped small cost, where the art of hospitali-

and scattered throughout the house, ty can be as delightfully exercised, and

They lurk in the shady corner seats, rest and recuperation as completely

whose cedar boxes hold everything experienced as under the most elabo-

from clothes to carpenter's tools ; rate architectural triumph.

PHILOSOPHICAL POINTS

By William J. Burtscher

Listen to no man's gossip — not even your own.

A hypocrite is a man who talks two ways, but is only believed in one.

When a fellow is naturally of no account he will show it in almost every
step he makes.

The rich always ride on the fastest trains, which seems to prove that riches
have wings.

Some men tell lies before they think. They are, therefore, greater liars
than thinkers.

Some evils are not as b^d as they are painted, but some are not painted
as bad as they are.

No man has any business trying to sail to the moon as long as there is
room for him on earth.

When a man makes a fool of himself it is almost a certainty that the job
was half done before he began.

The witnessing of a sunrise does not do a man any more good, really, than
the getting up in time to witness it.

Some men think it a good idea to keep themselves so busy earning dollars
that they have no time to spend them.

The pessimist is doing the world a great service — his gloomy view of life
makes her appreciate the optimist more.

The reason some people do not see the great men in their community is
because they keep their eyes on themselves.

Sc«ne people may be good when asleep, but if they are not good when
awake they will dream bad dreams even then.

You can keep your neighbor from bragging on himself so much by doing
a little bragging on him yourself as you go along.

When some men apply a little effort they do so well and feel so delighted
that they allow themselves to believe that they are doing their best, when they
are really only half trying.

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MISSION SAN JOSE DE AGUAYO, FOUNDED I715

Halls of the past! Their deep

demotion %>roving^
Methinks I see adoiim your sa-

ci*ed aii^les^
With silent tread^ the dark-robed

figures moving.

RaUs of the past^ luno glorimix

are your walls !
And tho^ the gloom now holds

them in its clasp^
Their story lives and all the world

enthralls.

MISSION SAN FRANCISCO DE LA ESPADA
FOUNDED 1731

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HALLS OF THE PAST 95

Ilallis of tliepa^t^ a nation fair and grand

Was cradled in your arms^ and there did learn
To win sweet freedom foi' oiir Southern kvml.

Oh^ sacred halls^ with datne-shaped towers ascendimj^

Hark^ how the music of your swaying bells
Enchantment leitds^ with wondrous story blending.

Oh^ ancient haUs^ whene'er 1 gaze upon you

I seem to touch a further past^ and hear
ThepriesUy voices chant of Him most true.

The shadows faU^ the sun sinks from the hill^

And through the ruined casements whispers steals
Faint ecJwes of devotions long since still.

MISSION CONCEPCION, FOUNDED I731

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THE RACE AT REECE'S

By John Trotwood Moore

It wuz up at the race at Recce's,
An' my little Buster wuz th'ar,

With cr sunflower patch in
britches
An' er turnip patch in his ha'r.

Ten, an' er holy terrer —
Great Scott, how he cu'd swa'r!

Bolted ther track like ther devil —
Away he went down ther lane,
his Cl'a'red ther fence an' swept er road
Through ther corn like er hurri-
cane!
An' Buster? Sot th ar chawin' 'is cud.
An' er holdin' on to ther rein.

I lar'n't him to chaw ter-
backer
Befo' his colt-uppers
cum —
He'd chaw ther weed an'
spit away
When he didn't have
nuthin but gum.
His mammy died at his
homing,
Ther ole cow pegged
out, too;
I don't give no milk
m'se'f.
So I raised 'im on moun-
tain dew.

Ride ? Ther one-gallus
raskill —
Why, he w'u'dden't stay
oflF er boss ;
An' so at ther race at
Recce's
They got me to fling him
across
Ther pacin' stud of Side-
wheel Jones,
An' we had cr race that
wuz *boss !

Er race that wuz boss — fur Buster
He jes' sot tha'r an' won —

But Side-wheel Jones' ole pacin' stud
He acted ther son-of-a-gun,

Fur he didn't stop when he won ther
heat.
But bolted ther track in a run.

BUSTER

Men mounted then like war-times,
An' we follered es fast es we cu'd.

''Hes kilt ther boyT I heard 'em say
As ther mad horse plunged in ther
wood —

Kilt little Buster! An' then my h'art
Jumped up in my throat an' stood.

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THE RACE AT REECE^S

His hat we foun' in ther com row ;
At ther bridge his britches wuz
tha'r
(They had been mine, cut oS at ther
knees
To give him plenty of a'r).
He'd busted his gallus an' shed 'is
pants,
But they didn't shed him, I'll sw(fr!

Blood on ther bridge at ther cornder,
Hair on ther fence beyant;

Ther road tore up like two ole bulls
Had wrastled all night in a rant

''Dead wha'r ther hoss run under that
lim'r
An' I lit on ther ground in a pant.

I prayed like er cirkit rider —
I know'd I had it to do —

Fur hadn't I tort 'im 'is meanness
An' raised 'im on mountain dew?

Lord, I'll lead er dOFrunt life

If you'll pull little Buster through!

1 heard er laugh above me,

An' I shet off quick es er wink,
Fur tha'r on ther lim' sot Buster,

An' whut did he say, you think?
"Aw, Dad, close up that sermon;

IV hut Buster 4teeds is er drink!"

I reached fur that boy an' I yanked
'im —
(He cu'ddent er bin better
dressed!)
The hickories grow'd all aroun* me

An' I give 'im my level bes* —
The good Lord saved his life that
day ;
You bet I saved ther rest!

f Sentiment and Story

jSifc -.<^ ^§^.

By Robert L. Taylor

HEAVEN AND HELL

Old Omar Khayyam had the truth
by the tail and a down-hill pull when
he said, "I myself am heaven and
hell," for there is a perpetual warfare
between the Angels of Light and the
Angels of Darkness in every human
breast from the cradle to the grave.
Whoever clings to the pure and beau-
tiful things of life has given the vic-
tory to the Angels of Light and has
opened the windows of heaven in his
soul. Whoever delivers virtue into
the black arms of lust and unchains
the other evil passions within him has
surrendered to the Angels of Dark-
ness and is nothing more nor less
than a walking devil and a breathing
hell. There is a heaven in every brain
when some pure and beautiful thought

is born ; there is a heaven in every
heart when the wing of an angel flut-
ters in some rapturous dream; but
the gate of heaven is closed and the
angels take their flight when black-
winged Evil enters in.

The amount of good in every indi-
vidual depends upon his standing ever
on the alert to resist the bad. What
is it that impels the wanton boy to
slip in range of the tree-top and pierce
the breast of the thrush with a bullet
as it pours out its little dream in
song? What pleasure is it to him
to know that he has robbed the air
of a melody? A thoughtless girl
romps and frolics in the ecstasy of
life's happy morning. What good
comes to the scandal-monger who

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

tosses a rumor around, that bounces
from tongue to tongue, and fills the
quiver of society with poisoned ar-
rows? Is there any happiness in
breaking an innocent wing? Is there
any joy in a wrecked hope and a shat
tered dream? If there is, what is it
but the same joy that thrills the mur-
derer when he has struck the fatal
blow, or the devil himself when he has
blown out the light of a joyous life?

4. 4. 4*

A deft wizard of the bow sweeps the
vibrant strings of his violin and turns
it into a thing of passion. It laughs,
and the world laughs with it; it
weeps, and the world's in tears. In
every note there is a smile and a sigh,
in every strain there is a love-song.
With every shifting of the bow a new
dream is born ; with every tremulous
touch of the nimble fingers a new flood
of melodies flows out from under the
enchanted bridge to ravish the enrap-
tured senses. He is a dream-maker
and Eden-builder of the world. But
look how the gold- jaundiced world
sneers at the dreamer, even while it
drifts on the silver tide of his dream.
Look hov/ sharp-faced commercialism
starves him while it gathers sweets
for the soul in the Eden he has builded.
Where Mammon outweighs sentiment,
is not hell uppermost in the soul?

4. 4. 4*

An ambitious spirit enters the tur-
bulent field of politics; he pours out
his thoughts and dreams to his people
and they cheer him on in the conflict ;
but as he climbs the rugged steeps he
leaves happiness behind him — and his
hair, too, if he has any hair — until at

last he reaches the summit with a hole
in his vanity and his pride in a sling.
Whoever enters the field of politics
will find Jordan a hard road to travel,
for there is Ingratitude whetting its
knife and croudiing in the darfiiess
waiting for the opportunity to spring
upon its benefactor and friend. Did
you ever throw the life-line to a man
and drag him safely to the shore, but
when his feet were on the rock and
his clothes were dry he slipped up be-
hind to stab you in the back or to push
you into the flood from which you have
rescued him? That is politics.
There stands

"the hypocrite with holy leer.
Soft smiling and demurely looking down
But hid the dagger underneath the gown."

That is politics.

And yonder is green-eyed Envy with
his bosom full of serpents, scattering
slanders everywhere, and at every
word a reputation dies. That is poli-
tics.

But when the struggle is ended and
the victory won and the proud old
politician stands there clothed with
power and crowned with glory, with
neither malice in his heart nor bitter-
ness on his lips, the railroads snatch
him bald-headed because he demands
that they obey the law, the trusts kick
him in the ribs because he is for tariff
reform, the combines put the gaff
in him because he is opposed to mo-
nopoly, the corporation-owned press
tears off his coat-tails because he is op-
posed to the encroachment of the fed-
eral power upon the reserved rights
of the states, declaring in flaming
words that "nobody takes him seri-
ously'* — and that is hell.

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It was J. M. Barrie who said of
life that it was a story which a man
starts to write, but is scarcely well bc-

gun before he finds his pen

The Pen saying very different

of Destiny things from the purpose of

the author. Certainly this
is true of nations whose governments
are never controlled by a single pur-
pose, but always by the most powerful
of a number of conflicting ones. The
wish of the populace to-day is differ-
ent from their wish yesterday. Their
idols come and go as do their policies.
There was a time in the history of the
American government when the pos-
session of insular territory and the
control of colonies was a thing univer-
sally opposed. It used to be the max-
im of our government that we would
annex no territory that would need a
navy to defend it, and that maxim was
based upon other real facts of the
case, upon the general principle that
one must take care of what he has.
But very often it costs more to take
care of things than they are worth,
and that is what the United States
government is finding to be the case
with the Philippine Islands. Not now,
perhaps not in a hundred years, but
inevitably they will have to be deifend-
ed either against foreign nations or
against themselves, and that it will
cost money no sane person doubts, and
a good deal more money than they
are worth — to us. A good, stiff fight
with Japan would do more to help us
get rid of them than anything else.
What a nation that owns a continent
wants with a lot of islands over-popu-
lated with indigent, ignorant Malays
is beginning to be a question again.
Republicans and Democrats are join-
ing in answering. The simple facts of
the case are that the United States
alone occupies an impregnable posi-

tion, being over three thousand miles
from any considerable rival, but the
United States with the Philippine
Islands, entirely alters the case. They
are liable to cost us more in money
and manhood than an empire would
be worth.

The occurrences of the last few
months in the labor world and in
financial circles may well give pause
to that wholesale and
How the reckless warfare against
Demagogue all classes of rich corpo-
Comee High rations which has char-
acterized American poli-
tics of the last two years. The won-
derful demand for capital to be used
in developing the resources of the
world has been nowhere greater than
in the South. Men of daring and of
financial genius have been found who
were able and willing to lead in that
remarkable decade of improvement
which has just ended. After forty
years of wandering in the wilderness
the South has at last sighted her
promised land. It would seem that
she would be the last section in the
Union to desire any change in the fi-
nancial situation; yet lately she has
not been behind in doing her part to-
ward retarding industrial progress
within her own borders. There are
more sensible ways, for example, to
fix railroad rates than that devised by
most of our states, as Governor
Hughes, of New York, has lately
proven. The truth of the matter is
that the people have just begun to re-
alize how intimately connected their
own fortunes are with the railroads,
whether they own one dollar's worth
of stock in them or not. Yet it is a
singular fact that nothing short of be-
ing brought face to face with finan-
cial disaster will usually suffice to

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

make good times realize how bad bad
times are. There has been too much
senseless ranting against capital. Poli-
ticians desiring offices have led in the
bad work. The demagogue, made so
from ignorance, and the demagogue
from expediency have united with sen-
sible men and anarchists to give to the
people that half-baked legislation
which has given the whole country in-
digestion. It is not generally known
to that section of our population which
is accustomed to accuse our railroads
of extortionate rates that the freight
rates of this country are not one-third
as high as Great Britain, not one-half
as high as Germany, and only one-
third as high as France. A kind of
mania seems to have seized on the
people of this country urging them
by every means to hamper the devel-
opment of the great industrial corpo-
rations, although these corporations
have done more than any other cause
to create the wealth of the American
people. It seems odd that at the cli-
max of our prosperity discontent
should be able to strike blows so
hard and that our memories should
not be long lived enough to remember
how idle men walked our streets in
'93-'96 seeking work when there was
none to be had.

In one point, at least, and that a very
important one, the Southern States
are blessed. The search of the coming

years is destined to be a

The a search for power, for clean,

Electric flexible power, for cheap,

People transmissible power. Which

is another way of saying
that electric motors, if they can be run
cheaply, constitute the ideal form of
energy. More and more it is being
found that the smoke and dirt and cost
of coal handicap it as compared with
the new form of power, electricity. It
is just here that the South is so well
supplied. The streams that flow down
from the mountains to the sea are wil-
ling and strong enough to turn many
millions of spindles. There are vil-
lages and cities in the South of which
electricity is the foundation, the life
blood, the skeleton or the anything

else which is important. Charlotte,
North Carolina; Columbus, Georgia;
and other cities similar in size and lo-
cation, are being built up upon the
basis of the electric fluid. It is a
power which is noiseless, clean, smoke-
less, coming as it does from the rivers
and the valleys, and these great water
powers send it forth unceasingly to
do the work of the Southern mills.

There is probably no one thing
which promises more for the South
than the combination of its many

water powers and its great

The New monopoly. The Southern

Milky Way gun, which lifts the waters

to the crests of the moun-
tains and causes the cotton plant to
blossom in profusion, blazes a sec-
ond time in the myriad electric lights
that are making the piedmont sections
of the South a new milky way at night,
and is performing again its toils in
turning the mill wheels of her thou-
sand villages. Perhaps the most
promising thing about it is that the
development of these powers has just
b'gun. Not a tenth, not a twentieth,
perhaps not a fiftieth of her water
TK)\vers have as yet been developed. In
fact, the most accurate figures ap-
proach the latter estimate more nearly
than any other, and this is a power
that will not cease its labors until the
fires of the sun shall grow cold, or the
continents be washed level with the
ocean, or the waters of the earth sink
into its interior, none of which things
are likely to happen in the present gen-
eration. The coal mines are destined
to give out — very quickly, as compared
with the length of a people's history —
but the water that trickles down from
the mountain side will not cease as
lon^ as the sun shines. The Southern
states of this continent being richest
in water powers are destined natural-
ly to be richest in dollars. Further-
more, the general use of electricity,
while a new thing, is becoming more
and more common. Electric cook-
ing, electric heating, electric ironing,
electric sewing — these are some of the
uses to which the new form of power

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IS being put. Electricity is good for
ever>thing. from heating a hot water
bag to a wireless outfit for calling the
servants.

As to the cost, gas at a dollar per
thousand cubic feet is just about equal
to electricity at two and one-half cents
per kilowatt hour. If it is managed
properly for cooking, it will not be
exorbitant, provided the charge is not
above the figure quoted. Perhaps
during the coming years we may see
farm houses, as well as cotton mills,
equipped with electricity. If so, they
will have cool kitchens and clean ones,
the housewives will not be bothered
with washing chimneys for kerosene
lamps; perhaps there will even be
vacuum cleaners instead of the old
brooms and brushes. Will an electric
pump hoist the water to a tank on top
of the house? Will a little laundry be
equipped with nicely running motors?
Will these arrangements do away en-
tirely with that tired feeling? Over
in the Carolinas there is a region
whose center is Catawba, South Caro-
lina, which is supplied by a single
company, and which is larger than the
state of Connecticut. There are near-
ly fifty power stations and perhaps ap-
proximately a million people served
by it. They sell electricity at the
rate of $20 per horse power per year,
which, when figured down to the kilo-
watt hour, comes to something like
eight-tenths of a cent per kilowatt
hour, which is just about half as cheap
as gas or coal or wood. This, indeed,
is the blessing of the sun and the
mountains with which the Southland
is showered, and when the whole three
million horse power is developed, in-
stead of the little 100,000 that we now
have, the Southern states will be in-
habited by the electric people, and will
be blessed with the one clean, cheap,
flexible, sempiternal motive power. To
add that it is the one power also best
suited to a warm climate is unneces-
sary.

It is not going too far to say that
the time will come when the most in-
dustrious farmers who live in the elec-
tric region will live by electricity,

from the trolley car on which he loads
his freight, to the telephone over
which he sells it. There are even
those who suggest that when the tel-
harmonium has been perfected, the
symphonies of New York and Boston
will be listened to by myriads of farm-
ers in the Southland when the even-
ing's work is done. If we get the
storage battery made perfect, perhaps
they will fly by electricity. The pre-
diction of Sir Hugh Bell that within
a hundred years ocean liners will cross
the Atlantic with power generated at
Niagara Falls and transmitted to them
wirelessly, may be like all the other
great inventions^— a dream. Certain it
is that the electric age is upon us.

Few movements have been of more
interest to the Southern States than
the tremendous impetus given to the
De Jure Prohibition Cause during the

^^ last few years and especially

De Fjict ^"^^"& *^^ '^^^ ^^^ months.
It seems scarcely believable
that Kentucky is practically a prohi-
bition state. One hundred out of one
hundred and nineteen counties have
gone dry, and hundreds of saloons
have been closed up in that common-
wealth, and the prohibitionists are ex-
ultant. Yet the whisper comes that
de facto the state is wetter than ever.
The collector of internal revenue for
the Louisville district says that more
than two million dollars worth of
whiskey was tax-paid in that district
for the year ending June 30, 1907.
The Louisville district is known to be
one of the heaviest whisky districts in
the United States. Of course it is not
to be supposed that all of this whisky
was sold in and around Louisville, but
the distillers say that the figures fairly
represent the proportionate increase
in the amount drunk in that district.
During the year ending June 30th,
1906, only fourteen gallons were pro-
duced in that district as against two
and a half last year. The above facts,
when taken in connection with others,
seem to throw doubt upon the efficacy
of our present plan of legislating men
into soberness. There is no difference

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102

THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

of sentiment among the good people
of the land as to the wisdom of pro-
moting the temperate use of all stimu-
lating and intoxicating beverages. Es-
pecially here in the South, where from
twenty-five to sixty per cent of our
population are negroes, is it necessary
to keep strict surveillance upon the sa-
loon, and from every point of view it
is desirable that our people should be
temperate. The new prohibition law,
however, will be watched by a large
element of the good people with a kind
of hopeful incredulity. The truth of
the matter is that if the sale of whis-
ky is to be put out of business in
the South the way to do it is by stop-
ping the manufacture of it. Mow-
ing a wild onion bed does not serious-
ly damage next year's crop. People
•^ill drink whisky as long as they can
get it, they will get it as long as it is
made. The saloon may go, but it
will only give place to the sideboard
as long as whisky is manufactured. •

The American people are, on the
whole, we think, a hopeful, optimistic
folk, and so most of the magazine lit-
erature they print and
The Rights read takes this bright,

of the cheerful view of things

Seamy Side as its keynote, well-
nigh to the exclusion of
the more somber side of life. Now,
this desire to please is particularly
characteristic of the American short
story. Our common short story is a
wonderfully deferential piece of lit-
erature. It wouldn't hurt your feel-
ings for the world. We think, some-
times, they were all written in the par-
lor. The usual short story brings the
two together and then hurries them,
after a few conventional detours, gaily
to the altar, leaving them there with
the intimation, if not the exact words,
of ye olden story-tellers that "they
lived happily ever afterward." Just
at this delightful culmination, Experi-
ence steps up, taps the reader's shoul-
der and whispers, "but very often, you
know, they don't live 'happily ever
afterward' — that is just magazine fic-
tion."

Now, in our opinion, there lies with-

in the short story the possibility of
making as strong and vivid an im-
pression as may be produced by any
form of literature. A short story is
to a novel what a rifle is to a gatling
gun. The short story is compressed,
may be aimed at any particular point,
and, above all other things, it pos-
sesses unity, a factor which renders it
capable of producing an abrupt and
most trenchant effect.

So this is the question we wish to
ask: Is it right to turn so potent an
instrument on mere frivolity and
amusement? The ability to do a
great work binds the possessor to do
it. The ability to present in a striking,
forceful manner what is tender and
sore and wrong in our country and
what should be righted, binds man or
magazine, hand and foot, to show the
wrong and proclaim the right.

What leads to this line of thought
is the fact that we recently published
a cotton mill story entitled "Thrall of
the Green" that brought us a number
of letters both of praise and protest.
Our most temperate reader must ad-
mit that cotton mill conditions in the
South are not exactly what they should
"be. The owners of cotton mills them-
selves appreciate this fact. Many
and many of them are working to bet-
ter the present state of things. And
now merely because cotton mill con-
ditions are unsavory, are we to taboo
this subject from our pages? What
are the rights of the seamy side?

This is a Southern magazine for all
the world. We are honestly striving
to depict the South, not the sunshiny
South alone, nor the gloomy South
exclusively, but the South as we find it,
mostly sunshiny, sometimes cloudy,
but always fair to our eyes and always
lovable.

The movement among the Southern
States looking toward the improve-
ment of their public highways is
one that will command interest every-
where. Good roads are be-
The ginning at last to be looked
Roads upon in the light of a ne-
cessity, and their expensiveness
is easily offset by the saving to farm-

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WITH OUR EDITORS

103

ers and pleasure seekers of a very lib-
eral interest on the amount invested.
Perhaps the chief obstacle to be over-
come is the long distances which must
needs be traversed by state roads and
the laree public appropriations neces-
sary to the building of any adequate
state system. Outside of the section
around Charlotte, North Carolina, and
a few like progressive cities of the
Eastern slope, and outside of the good
roads of Tennessee and Kentucky, the
highways of the Southern States are
a very bad indication of the general
good sense of the people. It has taken
the little state of Massachusetts almost
300 years of unintermittent prosperity
to perfect her system of state roads,
and her work is not yet complete. We
may expect, therefore, that in the
South it will be at least a century be-
fore our country sections are even
moderately well gridironed with mac-
adam roads — ^perhaps twice that long
will be taken in giving to the citizens
of the South a satisfactory public
transportation system. Even then the
task must needs be heroic, for unless
the condition of the blade half of the
South chang:es materially about one-
half of the citizens will have to do all
of the improvement. When one con-
siders that the population per mile in
the state of Massachusetts is some-
thing like 400, and in the state of
South Carolina, for example (which
is one of the most thickly populated
of the Southern States), is something
like 47, it is very easily seen how diffi-
cult a task the state has before it. Add
to this the fact that 60 per cent of the
population of South Carolina belongs
to a race that is indigent and improvi-
dent, and the herculean nature of the
task is still plainer. Yet the work can
be accomplished, and will be, and the
sooner the better. Tennessee and
Kentucky are especially to be con-
gratulated upon the progress made,
and the piedmont section of the Caro-
linas and Georgia are aspiring to be a
close second. We may 'look forward
during the next half century to the '
creation of a public opinion in the
South which will demand better roads
and more of them.

It is not generally known to the av-
erage American that the countries
south of us and' the countiy north of

us are making strides in the

^^^ industrial world which are

Others the full equal of our own..

Prosper. Vast millions of American

money are being taken to de-
velop their resources. Little countries
like Porto Rico and the small Cen-
tral American republics have taken
from five to ten million dollars each
in the last two or three years, and in
Cuba at least one hundred and fifty
million dollars of American money
may be found. This indicates a condi-
tion of affairs worthy of notice, and
suggests that with the multitudinous
places for the use of cash within our
own bounds, the chances for good in-
vestments in Latin America must be
fine indeed, or else our money would
stay at home. That there are such
chances the well-posted have long
known. Take, for example, the city
of Rio Janeiro. Its population is
about one million, yet, excepting only
New York city, it spent more money
last year for local and public improve-
ments than any other city in America.
The United States is a great nation,
and there are those among us who
think our annual bill for the develop-
ment of our rivers and harbors is en-
tirely too much; yet Brazil, whose
population is insignificant, compared
with pur own, spent more money last
year on its rivers and harbors than the
United States plus the individual ex-
penditures of its several states com-
bined. Such facts as these should
suggest to those who would destroy
our industrial fabric that their work
should not •be difficult. It should be
a very easy matter to turn the stream
of investment away from ourselves
into other channels. Foolish legisla-
tion is the easiest way to do this.
Senseless ranting against capital and
all successful corporations is a close
second. Once a good, lusty panic has
been brought upon us we will all be
wiser — and poorer.

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104

THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

During the Old Home Week which
was celebrated in Boston in the last
week in July, there was a placard
upon one of the leading
An Old wholesale houses of the city,
Home which is so full of truth and
Motto, so expressive of the true sen-
timent of every patriotic peo-
ple that it commanded more than the
usual attention. To come home is to
the New Englander not unlike the
home-coming of the Tennessean or
Georgian, and both are typical of one
of the very finest phases of American
character. "A love of Boston," said
the placard, "is not a passing fancy.
It is founded on a conviction that here,
more than anywhere else, does life gain
best reward, that worth is more keen-
ly recognized ; that honor is held most
high ; that charity seeks closest for op-
portunity; that right is right and
never can be wrong — and such a love
endures." Substituting Atlanta, or
New Orleans, or Richmond for Bos-
ton, these words are the secret of the
home-drawing w"hich brings the emi-
grant back from the West or the
North, making him seek the old tree
by the well under which he vowed to
do such great things that his native
village would remember him forever.
Happy is the man who realizes that
among his own people more than any-
where else life gains its best reward,
and worth grows to be most keenly
recognized. Happy also is he who re-
solves that in his own city right shall
be right and wrong shall be wrong;
that charity there shall seek constantly
for opportunity. Such love as this has
made Boston great as it will make
great every city whose heart is full of
it.

It should be remembered by all who
aspire to write about the disfranchise-
ment laws of the South that they are
not laws disfranchising the
Things negro. Their whole pur-
Thcy Are pose and tenor is to elimi-
Not nate from the suffrage the
ignorant, purchasable vote,
so that elections in the Southern
States can express the will of the edu-

cated, property-owning citizen. It
happens that out of lOO indigent, igno-
rant and immoral citizens some ninety
have black skins. If it were not so
there would be no need of such suf-
frage laws. The so-called disfran-
chisement law of South Carolina is
practically the same as that of Massa-
chusetts, and is arranged so that no
self-respecting, property-owning or
educated negro is excluded from the
polls. If he owns as much as $200
worth of property, or if he can read
and write he can vote. To make the
suffrage laws lower would be a mis-
take, were every citizen of the state
a white man. In this connection also
it would be well to call the attention
of those who wield the pen to the mis-
take that is often made of considering
the so-called Jim-Crow laws as a
hardship or insult to the colored peo-
ple. If there is an insult in them,
it is not on the part of the legislators
nor of the white citizens of the South,
but comes from the mind of him who
takes it to have been intended as such.
No one would think that a law com-
pelling white people to be seated sepa-
rately in street cars or in the railway
trains would be an insult to the white
people, provided as good accommoda-
tions are furnished to the white as to
any other race from which it might be
deemed expedient to separate him.
The pitiful part about the whole sub-
ject is the fact that a negro considers
it an insult to be forced to associate
with himself. Jim-Crow cars are
classed by him and by some of his so-
called friends as degrading. All of
which calls to mind that ancient sen-
tence, "There is nothing unclean of
itself, but to him that thinketh a thing
to be unclean, to him it is unclean.*'
Until the negro really begins to re-
spect itself and is unashamed to as-
sociate with itself and is not eternally
whining to be taken into white compa-
ny, its progress must necessarily be al-
most hopelessly retarded. Nothing
could throw a clearer light on the race
situation than just this fact that to be
alone is to the white race a thing to be
desired, and to the black race a thing
to be avoided.

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number of onr readers, and there is no department that should be more popular. There are few of us
who haye not in old scrap books, or elsewhere, something— in prose or poetrv— that we cherish : that
has become part of our souls. Send them in, thus preserving them and permitting others to enjoy ihem.

THE OWL CRITIC

"Who stuffed that white owl?" No one
spoke in the shop ;

The barber was busy and he couldn't stop ;

The customers waiting their turn were all
reading

The Daily, the Herald, the Post, little heed-
ing

That young man who blurted out such a
blunt question ;

Not one raised a head, or even made a sug-
gestion ;
And the barber kept on shaving.

"Don*t you see, Mister Brown,"

Cried the youth, with a frown,

"How wrong the whole thing is,

How preposterous each wing is,

How flattened the head is, how jammed

down the neck is —
In short, the whole owl, what an ignorant

wreck 'tis?
I make no apology;
I've learned owl-eology.
I've passed days and nights in a hundred

collections,
And cannot be blinded to any deflections
Arising from unskillful fingers that fail
To stuff a bird right, from his beak to

his tail.
Mister Brown! Mister Brown!
Do take that bird down.
Or you'll soon be the laughing stock all

over town !"
, And the barber kept on shaving.

"I've studied owls, and other night fowls,

And I tell you what I know to be true:

An owl cannot roost with his limbs so un-
loosed ;

No owl in this world ever had his claws
curled,

Ever had his legs slanted, ever had his
bill canted.

Ever had his neck screwed into that atti-
tude.

He can't do it, because 'tis against all bird
laws.

Anatomy teaches, ornithology preaches,

An owl has a toe that can't turn out so!

I've made the white owl my study for
years.

And to sec such a job almost moves me
to tears.

Mister Brown, I'm amazed ypu should be
so near crazed

As to put up a bird in that posture ab-
surd !

To look at that owl really brings on a

dizziness ;
The man who stuffed him don't half know

his business!"
And the barber kept on shaving.

"Examine those eyes, I'm filled with sur-
prise

Taxidermists should pass off on you such
poor glass;

So unnatural they seem they'd make Au
dubon scream,

And John Burroughs laugh to encounter
such chaff.

Do take the bird down; have him stuffed
again, Brown !"
And the barber kept on shaving.

"With some sawdust and bark I could
stuff in the dark

An owl better than that, I could make an
old hat

Look more like an owl than that horrid
fowl.

Stuck up there so stiff, like a side of
coarse leather.

In fact, about him there's not one natu-
ral feather."

Just then, with a wink and a sly normal
lurch.

The owl, very gravely, got down from his
perch.

Walked round, and regarded his fault-
finding critic

(Who thought he was stuffed) with a
glance analytic,

And then fairly hooted, as if he should say :

"Your learning's at fault this time, any-
way;

Don't waste it again on a live bird, I pray.

I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic,
good-day !'
And the barber kept on shaving.

— James T. Fields.

AN INDIAN SERENADE

I arise from dreams of thee

In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low

And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,

And a spirit in my feet
Hath led me — who knows how?

To thy chamber window, Sweet.

The wandering airs they faint
^ In the dark, the silent stream-

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io6

THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

And the champak odors pine
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingale's complaint
It dies upon her heart ;

As I must die on thine^
Oh, beloved as thou artl

Oh, lift me from the grass !

I die! I faint 1 I faill
Let thy love in kisses rain

On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alasl

My heart beats loud and fast;
Oh, press it to thine own again,

Where it will break at lastl

— Percy Bysshe Shelley.

PASSIONATE CRY OF THE MOTH-
ER-HEART

"Bound with a Bond not God Himself
Will Sever, the Babe I Bore Is Mine For
Ever and Ever."

My child is mine,

Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh is he,

Rocked on my breast and nurtured at my
knee.

Fed with sweet thoughts ere ever he drew
breath,

Wrested in battle through the gates of
death.

With passionate patience is my treasure
hoarded,

And all my pain with priceless joy re-
warded.

My child is mine.
Nay, but a thousand thousand powers of

ill
Dispute him with me; lurking wolf-like

still
In every covert of the ambushed years.
Disease and danger dog him; foes and

fears
Bestride his path, with menace fierce and

stormy.
Help me, O God! These arc too mighty

for me!

My child is mine.
But pomp and glitter of the garish world
May wean him hence; while, tenderly un-
furled
Like a spring leaf, his delicate, spotless

days
Open in blinding sunlight. And the blaze
Of bloom and blossom, scents and songs at

riot.
May woo him from my wardenship of quiet.

My child is mine.
Yes, all his grey forefathers of the past
Challenge the dear possession; they over-
cast
His soul's clear purity with dregs and lies
Of vile unknown ancestral impulses;
And viewless hands, from shadowy re-
gions groping.

With dim negation frustrate all my hop-
ing.

My child is mine.
By what black fate, what ultimate doom

acatrs'd.
Shall be that radiant certainty rcvcrs'd?
Tho* hell should thrust its fiery gulfs be-
tween,
Tho* all the heaven of heavens should in-
tervene.
Bound with a bond not God Himself will

sever.
The babe I bore is mine for ever and ever.

My child is mine.
— From London Spectator. Author not
known.

A RED, RED ROSE

Oh, my luve is like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;

Oh, my luve is like the. melodic
That's sweetly played in tunc

As fair thou art^ my bonnie lass.

So deep in the luve am I :
And I will luve thee still, my dear.

Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear.
And the rocks melt wi' the sun ;

I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare thee weel, my only luve I
And fare thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,
Tho it were ten thousand mile.

— Robert Burns.

ANNABEL LEE

It was many and many a year ago.

In a kingdom by^ the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may'
know.
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other
thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea :
But we loved with a love that was more
than love —
I and my Annabel Lee ;
With a love that the winged seraphs of
heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago.

In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, that chilled

My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her high-bom kinsman came

And bore her away from me.
To shut her up in a sepulcher

In this kingdom by the sea.

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THE FAMILY SCRAP BOOK

107

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,

Went envying her and me—
Yes!— that was the reason (as all men
know.
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by
night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than
the love
Of those who were older than we —
Of many far wiser than we ;
And neither the angels in heaven above.
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:
For the moon never beams, without bring-
ing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the
bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the

side
Of my darling — ^my darling— my life and
my bride.
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

— Edgar Allan Poe.

Thb Taylor-Trotwood Magazine Co.,
Nashville, Tenn.

Gentlemen: Among the many good
good things in your excellent magazine, I
e^ecially like to look over the Scrap Book
D^artment While most of the articles
submitted are of the poetical variety, I see
no good reason why we should not mix in a
little prose. I am inclosing my little mite
for your consideration, and if not 'suitable,
no matter, as I will think just as much as
ever of your paper. I have forgotten the
name of the paper from which this was
slipped, so cannot give the proper credit.
On the death of the late Mr. Vest, a few
years ago, a great many stories and anec-
dotes were published about him. I liked
this one better than all. As Mr. Vest was
a Southern man, and as I have never seen
this story in print but the one time, I am
in hopes that it might interest some of your
many readers.

Very truly yours,

Roe, Arkansas. F. Trotter:

[This is one of the little masterpieces of
sentiment that will live, and we thank Mr.
Trotter for sending it. — Eds.]

EULOGY ON A DOG

One of the pretty incidents told by Mr.
Vest was his eulogy of a dog in a country
court in Missouri. Mr. Vest was waiting
for a case to be called in which he was in-
terested. The dog case came up and a niati

was being sued for killing his neighbor's
dog. He became interested and the plain-
tiff's attorney urged him to speak. He
arose and said slowly :

"Gentlemen of the Jury— The best friend
a man has in the world may turn against
him and become his enemy. His son or
daughter, whom he has reared with loving
care, may prove ungrateful Those who
are nearest and dearest to us, those whom
we trust with our happiness and our good
name, may become traitors to their faith.
The money that a man has he may lose. It
flies away from him when he needs it most.
A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a
moment of ill-considered action. The peo-
ple who are prone to fall on their knees
to do us honor when success is with us
may be the first to throw the stone of malice
when failure sets its cloud upon our heads.

"The one absolutely unselfish friend that
man can have in this selfish world— the one
that never deserts him, and one that never
proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.
A man's dog stands by him in prosperity
and in poverty, in health and sickness. He
will sleep on the cold ground, where the
wintry winds blow and the snow drives
fiercely, if only he may be near his mas-
ter's side. He will kiss the hand that has
no food to offer; he will lick the wounds
and sores that come in encounter with the
roughness of the world. He guards the
sleep of his pauper master as if he were
a prince ; when all other friends desert, he
remains. When riches take wings and
reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant
in his love as the sun in its journeying
through the heavens.

"If fortune drives the master forth an
outcast in the world, friendless and home-
less, the faithful dog asks no higher privi-
lege than that of accompanying him, to
guard against danger, to fight against his
enemies. And when the last scene of all
comes, and death takes his master in its
embrace, and his body is laid away in the
cold ground, no matter if all other friends
pursue their way, there by the graveside
will the noble dog be found, his head be-
tween his paws, his eyes sad, but open in
alert watchfulness, faithful and true even
in death."

Then Mr. Vest sat down. He had spok-
en in a low voice, without a gesture. He
made no reference to the evidence of the
merits of the case. When he finished judge
and jury were wiping their eyes. The jury
filed out, but soon re-entered with a ver-
dict of $500 for the plaintiff, whose dog
was shot; and it is said that some of the
jurors wanted to hang the defendant

Mr. Vest's life was full of such incidents.
He was a poor man — as riches go, but what-
ever he had was at the service of any one
in need. He loved children — he loved his
fellow man — and he left a name of which
his children may w?11 be pr#ii(l.

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LILLIAN KEHDItlGK BYBH

Omar Khayyam. By George Roe.

Chicago: A. C. McClurg & Co.

Price, $1.75.
Like the first translator of the Per-
sian tent-maker's verse, Mr. Roe is
an Englishman. He has for years been
a member of the Khayyam Qub, and
through his interest in this club has
been led to make a thorough study of
the Sufi philosophy and the Persian
language, resulting in a translation of
the principal quatrains into verse of
exquisite English form. Mr. Roe has
very wisely accented the philosophy,
rather than the rhyme, of the quatrains,
and in this shows more of the true
poetic art than has been hitherto met
with in these translations. Mr. Roe
is an indefatigable traveler, and his
experiences, as well as his talents, fit
him peculiarly for authorship. He has
another book in preparation, a Per-
sion version of the creation of the
world.

The Heart That Knows. By
Charles G. D. Roberts. Boston:
L. C Page & Co. Price, $1.50.
The Canadian professor, poet and
nature story writer has shown his ver-
satility in a problem novel. The scene
is laid in a fishing village on the New
Brunswick coast, and the theme is that
of a loving woman who stoops to folly
and *'learns, too late, that men betray."
Luella Warden, the heroine, though
belonging to the rude fisher folk of
the hamlet, displays a strength and
brave honesty that is elevating. The
whole story is handled with admirable
delicacy and skill.

Aunt Jane, of Kentucky. By Eliza

Calvert Hall. Boston : Little, Brown

& Co. Price, $1.50.

Seldom does a short story win such

success as to justify its amplification

into a novel, but this was Mrs. Hall's
experience with "Sally Ann's Experi-
ence," which appeared in magazine
form and attracted so much attention
that the author was besieged with let-
ters requesting further information
concerning the interesting folks de-
scribed. The result is a charming
study of neighborhood life in a rural
Kentucky district. Mrs. Hall has a
happy faculty of making her charac-
ters live and breathe and seem like
"home folks," while treating the in-
cidents of their lives so that they seem
fresh and unhackneyed.

Roy and Ray in Mexico. By Mary
Wright Plummer. New York:
Henry Holt & Co. Price, $1.75.
To make history and geography at-
tractive to young readers is a difficult
matter, but Mrs. Plummer, in writing
of the "truly" travels of the Stevens
twins, manages to convey a good bit
of both in a delightfully palatable way.
The children learn much of the mus»r
of Mexico and the national favorites
are produced, with words and notes,
at the end of the volume. It is a valua-
ble travel guide, and a particularly
helpful book to teachers and school
children.

Spanish Explorers in the South-
ern United States. Edited by
Frederick W. Hodge and Theodore
H. Lewis. New York: Charles
Scribner's Sons. Price, $3.50, net.
Tn this series of original narratives
of early American history the wander-
ings of Cabeza de Vaca, the e:>^pedi-
tion of Coronado and the expedition
of Hernando de Soto are edited from
the notes of the explorers themselves.
These are not extracts, but complete
translations, and provide students of
history with comprehensive references
of the highest historical value. They

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BOOKS AND AUTHORS

109

are embellished with reproductions of
the maps, plans and drawings of the
period, and the quaintness of the lit-
eral translation, added to the na!vet6
of the old chroniclers, make the work
as interesting as a volume of romance.

The Morning Glory Club. By
George A. Kyle, Boston : L. C. Page
& Co. Price, $1.25.
A pleasing, wholesome book of sim-
ple unpretentiousness. It is a record
of the work of a woman's club in a
small village, with the accompanying
gossip, internal dissension and final
achievements depicted in sprightly, en-
tertaining way. A love story runs
through the account of the trials and
triumphs of the club.

The True Patrick Henry. By
George Morgan. Philadelphia: J.
B. Lippincott Co. Prise, $1.50.
Mr. Morgan, for many years the
editor of the Philadelphia Times, has
long been a student of history, and is
peculiarly adapted to the work of con-
tributing to the Lippincott "True"
series. The scenes and incidents of
Patrick Henry's life are plainly told,
and many false stories are refuted by
indisputable evidence. Naturally there
are many dramatic situations, and
these Mr. Morgan depicts vividly, giv-
ing a thrilling human interest to his-
tory. The volume abounds in refer-
ences and the bibliographical index is
complete.

The White Cat. By Gelett Burgess.

Indianapolis : Bc*bs-Merrill Co.

Price, $1.50.
No one would ever connect the author
of "The Purple Cow" with Boston,
but it is a fact that he was born and
educated there, graduating as a civil
engineer. His profession took him to
California, and it was there that this
ncMisense classic was written. Mr.
Burgess is versatile, both in his talents
and his tastes. He has been a col-
lege professor, a furniture designer
(he has a decided gift for drawing), a
magazine editor and a writer of seem-
ingly infinite variety — poetry, chil-

dren's stories, adventure, essays and
romance all flowing gracefully from
his facile Blickensderfer. In "The
White Cat" he has entered the field
of psychological romance and he has
given us a study of "dissociation of
personality" much closer to our pres-
ent experience than Jack London's
"Before Adam." As the result of a
shock the heroine's mind is split into
two personalities, each alternately in
control of her being and with sepa-
rate trains of memory. In the de-
nouement the author defies science
and provides an original, if not real-
istic, ending.

The Ministry of David Baldwin.
By Henry T. Colestock. New
York: Thos. Y. Crowell & Co.
Price, $1.50.
This intimate account of the change of
view of an orthodox minister and his
trial for heresy before his ultra-con-
servative congregation is especially
timely in its interest now, in view of
the Crapsey and other "heresy" trials
before the public. While the novel is
not autobiographical, it is a fact that
Mr. Colestock is a young Virginian
who abandoned the pulpit for a pro-
fessor's chair on account of a change
of convictions, and it is plain that the
battle between young David's desire
to be true to his principles and to min-
ister to his congregation is written
with a sympathetic pen. An enter-
taining glimpse of the home-making
of the young minister and his bride
gives lightness to the plot, and the
factions and bickerings of the con-
gregation are also full of flashes of
humor.

The Chronicles of Martin Hewitt.

By Arthur Morrison. Boston : L.

C. Page & Co. Price, $1.50.
For some years Mr. Morrison's de-
tective stories have been the standard
of excellence in American fiction of the
mystery school, and the demand for
his work has compelled the re-issue of
these capital chronicles. The narra-
tives are well told, and the element of
plausibility is ever present,

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..WITH OUR READERS

This deMrtmant Is open to our reftdars for the expre«iozi of their opinioiui on qoestlons of
imbUo inteSrMt. The edl^s, while InTltliig oontribadoiis bewlM on meMnree and events of
9«Mr«l interest, reserre the right to ezolnde Booh matter as is notdeemed soita^
responsible for opinions expressed.

Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine:

I am sending you a translation of the
Mexican account of the battle of Cerro
Gk>rdo, taken from a book called "The
Other Side." It is a graphic story, and I
can testify to its truth, as I was a par-
ticipant in the battle.

Yours very truly,
Walton, Tenn. . W. B. Walton.

BATTLE OF CERRO GORDO, BY
A MEXICAN EDIT(»

At dawn on the i8th of April, 1847, the
roar of the enemy's artillery resounded
through the camp as a solemn announce-
ment of a battle.

On the hill where the brave insurgents
had in former days shed their blood for
independence, now waved our flag, and
under its shadow, from that elevation, was
seen a line of men who were to serve as a
wall against the invader. Among the files,
the different and distinctive ranks of the
army, from the common soldier to the
GJeneral-in-Chief, then invested with the
supreme dignity of the nation, appeared at
that time in all the prestige and with all
the splendor which the illusions of patriot-
ism conceded to them.

The enemy, using the battery of Atalaya,
opened from thence, for some hours, their
fire upon the Tel6grafo, from which our
own replied. General Santa Anna then
employed himself in completing the bat-
tery by the roadside, and the engineers,
Robles and Cano, under the enemy's fire,
erected temporary works on the declivity
of the Tel^grafo, on the very spot where
the corps who defended the center of the
position the evening before, had formed.
Above the positions of the center and the
right of our line were now the same forces
which had previously garrisoned them;
upon the hill the First and Second Light
were sent, which had gone down early in
the morning to take their rations. The
Sixth Infantry returned to cover the right.
The Fourth of the line remained on the
spot, where they had fought so bravely
on the 17th. The cavalry, which had been
ordered down from Corral Falso in the
night, formed on the road, resting their
right opposite the battery just erected, and
were supported by the Eleventh Infantry.
The Third and Fourth Light Battalions re-
mained also formed on the road, ready to
march to any point that might be desig-
nated.

Such was the disposition of our forces

before sunrise, while the cannonade was
becoming more and more active between
the two hills, until the roar was repeated
every instant. The enemy, without cessa-
tion, poured down grenades, rockets and
all other kinds of projectiles, which fell
upon the hill, upon the road and even far
beyond our camp. Their colunms, in the
meantime, marched beyond the Atalaya, "
by the crags in front of our left, and about
seven in the morning one of them, under
the command of General Twiggs, com-
menced the attack upon the Tel6grafo.

General Santa Anna, as soon as he had
established the battery on the left, pro-
ceeded to the positions on the right, in-
fluenced perhaps by his first idea. But
stopping after he had passed the battery
of the center, and observing from that spot
the activity with which the cannonade was
sustained on our part, sent orders to Gen-
eral Vazquez not to expend his park, and
to shelter the troops from the enemy's fire.
Then returning by the road, on arriving at
the foot of the Tel6grafo, the fire of mus-
ketry opened, and he immediately sent up
the Third and Fourth Light Battalions to
aid the troops in defending that point.

The Americans charged with firmness,
deploying as skirmishers, covering them-
selves among the bushes and briers that
were on the ground upon the lines, scarce-
ly marked out, which it had been intended
to construct that morning, being supported
by the Third of the Line, the Second Light
and part of the Fourth. They made equal
exertions against the left of the Tel^grafo,
defended by the Fourth of the Line, and
against the right, where the Sixth Infantry
was posted, to reinforce them, as on the
previous evening. The artillery had ceased
to play on both sides, on account of the
proximity of the combatants. The fire of
the musketry was as active as the excite-
ment of the contest. Death, flapping her
wings over the bloody field, set on fire in
some places by the projectiles of the enemy,
was mixed in a horrible manner with the
thick smoke that enveloped thousands 0/
men, crimsoned with the contest Our sol-
diers fell in heaps in the midst of the
confusion, and the enemy falling also, were
instantly replaced by others, who seemed
to reproduce them. There fell the worthv
Colonel Palacios, commander of the artil-
lery of the field, wounded by the enemy's
balls; there a warrior's fame crowned the
career of General Vazquez, in the fullness
of his energies, with a glorious death
amidst the tumult of battle, and three bun-

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dred brave men shed their blood in the
most holy cause. This commander should
have been succeeded by his second, General
Uraga, but he was at the head 'of his bat-
talion, the Fourth of the Line, on the left
declivity of the Telegrafo, and having not a
moment to lose, General Baneneli took the
command, whose corps, the Third Light,
had remained in reserve, sheltered from
the fire by the very summit of the hill. The
activity of the engagement redoubling more
and more, destroyed new victims. The
Second Light and the Third and Fourth
of the Line had lost almost their entire
force, and even the last the greater part
of its officers. The enemy, pressing upon
our troops with superior numbers, suc-
cessively gained possession of the lower
works of the position, and without losing
an instant, rapidly ascended to assault the
last crest of the hill.

Some of our soldiers now began to leave
their ranks, and to descend tiie opposite
side, attempting to mingle with the
wounded, who were retiring, but General
Santa Anna observing it, ordered some of
his adjutants to prevent this disorder,
and they, either on compulsion or by the
stimulus of enthusiasm, succeeded in per-
suading the fugitives to return.

In the meantime, General Baneneli ap-
pealed to the last resource, and ordered his
men to charge bayonets. They, eager to
join in an action which they had only
heard, immediately hastened this move-
ment in full force, to come up to where
they were directed, but, surprised at find-
ing themselves hand to hand with an enemy
so superior .in numbers, and surrounded
<» all sides, were panic-struck in an in-
stanty fell into disorder, and their com-
mander in vain endeavored to keep them
in their ranks. Being himself involved
in the crowd with the chiefs of engineers
and other officers, who endeavored, sword
in hand, to keep back the men, they were
actually rolled together down the opposite
declivity, borne along by the multitude,
which poured onward like a torrent from
the height.

On the summit of the hill now was seen,
in the midst of a column of dense smoke,
a multitude of Americans, standing amidst
the flashing light of their fires, which were
directed against the enormous mass of men
precipitating down the steep declivity, cov-
ered, as it were, with a white robe from
the color of their dress. That shocking
spectacle was like the violent eruption of
a volcano, throwing out flames and cinders
from its bosom, and spreading them all
over its surface.

Among the fire and smoke, and above
the mass of blue formed by the Americans
behind the summit of the Telegrafo, still
floated our deserted flag. But the banner
of the stars was soon raised by the enemy
upon the same staff, and for an instant

both became entangled and confounded
together, our own at length falling to the
ground amidst the shouts and roar of the
victor's guns and the mournful cries and
confused voices of the vanquished.

It was now three-quarters past ten in the
morning. The enemy had appeared on the
right of our line during the attack on the
Telegrafo, and advancing in colunm upon
our position of the center, endeavored to
take all of our entrenchments by assault.
Captain Godinez, of the navy, command-
ing the artillery, had concerted with the
respective commanders of the three posi-
tions, to allow the enemy to advance upon
any of them without firing, until they
should approach within a short distance,
taking the precaution to have the cannon
loaded with grapeshot. The American
column, composed of volunteers, under the
command of General Pillow, approached
nearer and nearer our lines without receiv-
ing a single shot, but, as soon as they
reached a convenient place, a close dis-
charge of our pieces, which raked their
ranks, accompanied with a vigorous volley
of small arms from the three positions,
made a horrible slaughter among the
enemy, threw them into disorder, and
obliged them to make a precipitate re-
treat.

Before they could reorganize, and when
our soldiers had not suffered the slightest
loss, the Telegrafo had yielded, and the
Americans who had possession of it, de-
scending by the right declivity, upon the
battery on the road, which our forces had
now begun to use, entirely cut off those
positions, now surrounded on all sides,
and commanded by the hill, from which the
enemy directed their fire. General Jarero
no longer attempted any resistance, but
si»rrendered, with his force.

When the Telegrafo was lost the Sixth
Infantry had retreated to the positions on
the right, where they capitulated with the
other corps. The grenadier battalion, which
had been drawn out from the battery of
the center to the foot of the hill, chiefly
dispersed in spite of the exertions made to
collect it

The brigade of General Arteaga, that
had arrived in the midst of the conflict,
being infected by the disorder of the other
forces, fell into confusion opposite head-
quarters without having come into action.
The Eleventh Infantry, in obedience to
different orders from the Commander-
in-Chief, made repeated marches and
countermarches for that same point, while
the scattered remains of the Second, Third
and Fourth Battalions, and Third and
Fourth of the Line there likewise became
disordered, and the entire mass of men,
panic-struck, without morale, without dis-
cipline, moved about in that small piece
of road in the most frightful state of
confusion.

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An enthusiastic officer harang^ued the
troops at the pitch of his voice, assuring
them that they had yet lost nothing, wish-
ing to reanimate the spirit now dead in
all that unfortunate crowd. General Ba-
neneli, rushing in with his horse, and full
of wrath, poured forth a thousand horrible
imprecations upon his soldiers, and with
the butt of his pistol threatened particu-
larly one of his captains. The General-
in-Chief vented his rage upon the officers
who had lost their positions, and the agita-
tion of the multitude and the difficulties of
the ground, with the general dangers and
desperation, rendered the scene indescriba-
ble.

In the meantime the enemy's column,
commanded by General Worth, passing the
barrancas and crags on our left, which
had been deemed inaccessible, approached
the battery that had been thrown up that
day, the only remaining one in our pos-
session. The General-in-Chief ordered
General Canalizo to charge with the cav-
alry, but the woods absolutely prevented
the execution of the movement. The
column advanced in spite of the fire of the
cannon, in a direction for the road, to the
left of our battery, to cut off our retreat.
When, however, they had approached near
enough, more than two hundred skirmish-
ers were sent forward, whose balls, as if
with a breath of wind, fast cleared away
the men at our guns, which were supplied
by the artillery and a party of cuirassiers,
who had been ordered to dismount to re-
inforce the battery. The first adjutant,
Velasco, chief of the cuirassiers, had the
glory of falling at the foot of it. The
skirmishers advanced to the front of the
battery, so that the head of the column
was very near the road, when our cavalry,
seeing that they were about to be cut onF,
retreated rapidly by the Jalapa road. The
last effort was then made by Robles, and
the brave artillery officers, Malagon, Ar-
guelles and Olzinger, who, surrounded
on all sides, turned their pieces towards
the left, directing them against the head
of the column, a few moments before the
skirmishers, who rushed upon them with
the bayonet, got possession of them, and
turned them against us.

General Santa Anna, accompanied by
some of his adjutants, proceeded by the
road to the left of the battery, when the
enemy's column, now coming out of the
woods, absolutely prevented his passage
by a discharge which obliged him to fall
back. The carriage in which he had left
Jalapa was riddled with shot, the mules
killed and taken by the enemy, as well as
a wagon containing sixteen thousand dol-
lars, received the day before for the pay
of the troops. Every tie of command and
obedience now being broken among our
troops, safety alone being the object, and
all being involved in a frightful whirl,
they rushed desperately to the narrow pass

of the defile that descends to the Plan del
Rio, where the General-in-Chief had pro-
ceeded, with the chiefs and officers who
accompanied him.

HorriWc, indeed, was the descent by
that narrow and rocky path, where thou-
sands rushed, disputing the path with des-
peration and leaving a trade of blood upon
the road. All classes being confounded, all
military distinction and respect being lost,
the badges of rank became marks of sar-
casm, that were only meted out accord-
ing to their grade and humiliation. The
enemy, now masters of our camp, turned
their guns upon the fugitives. This aug-
mented more and more the terror of the
multitude crowded through the defile, and
pressed forward every instant by a new
impulse, which increased the confusion and
disgrace of the ill-fated day.

Cerro Gordo was lost Mexico was open
to the inquiry of the invader.

A LETTER FROM DAKOTA

[The letter below is a sample of the many
hundreds we receive each month; but as
this is unusually full and complete and con-
tains so many excellent suggestions both to
us and to our readers we publish it in
full. We have selected this letter for an-
other reason — it is an index to our desire
to show the kind of letters we wish to get
from our readers — letters expressing a can-
did opinion of our magazine and its meth-
ods — letters of great value to us, since they
give us an idea of what our subscribers
think. And we are publishing this maga-
zine to please our subscribers. — Editors.]

Fargo, N. D., Aug. 13, 1907.
Mr. John Trot wood Moore^
Nashville, Tenn.

My dear Sir: I see you mentioned a
chicken hunt in Dakota. You would not
know our city now, it has grown so since
you were here, so many new buildings and
other improvements. We have a fine city
now and a great country. You should have
had your chicken hunt here in the early
day. Out in the western part of the state,
in the "Cow Country," it was a shame the
way they were slaughtered ; and ducks, why,
I have shot so fast that really and truly
I had to dip the gun in water to cool off
the barrels; they would get so hot I
could not hold them. The next time you
are out this way stop off and we will have
a hunt, and I will tell you some hunting
stories of the early days — true ones, that
will tantalize you and scandalize me ia
your eyes, I expect.

In your last issue you wanted to hear from
your friends in the matter of raising the
price of the magazine. In the first place
let me say that if it is raised I will cheer-
fully pay it, but I very seriously question
whether it would be for the best I have
been watching the development of an-

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other $1.00 per year magazine that is next
in my heart to Taylor-Trotwood, the Pa-
cific Monthly, of Portland, Oregon. I like
it because it is truly Western. I can see
that it is enabled to live at $1.00 per year,
because the people there use it liberally
in advertising their country, not one section
or place, but the entire extreme West use
it, boom their country, as it were.

Can't you get the South to do better by
you along the same line? If you can there
will be no need to raise the price, but you
can give us what you have in the past,
and even better. Compare the August num-
ber of Pacific Monthly to yours, as to ad-
vertising of the country, I mean. Isn't
there a way to go after and get it in the
South for Taylor-Trot WOOD? It would
help Taylor-Trotwood and would help the
South. Can't you get the real estate men,
commercial clubs, etc., of the South to do for
you what the real estate men and commer-
cial clubs of the West are doing for the
Pacific Monthly? If you can't, the chances
are you will have to put up the price. But
whatever you do, keep it truly Southern.
Keep out that which we get or can get in
others. There is too much of a sameness
in many of the Eastern magazines — ^too
many of them. Give us, as you have in
the past. Southern history, biography of
Southern men. Southern stories, Southern
poetry, and negro stories. In fact, every-
thing Southern. If we want anything else,
we can get it somewhere else. Please ac-
cept what I have written in the spirit in
which it is meant

With kindest regards, I am, your friend,
Geo. W. Poague.
# #
A HANK OF YARNS

Friend Moore: Inclosed find some sure-
enough happenings in South Carolina. I
met up with Polk Miller once in Charles-
ton, and being a brother druggist, I asked
how it was he could fill lyceum dates and
travel all over the country. He replied,
"Oh! I'd get too rich if I worked all the
time." Yours truly,

H. K Aiken.
Skein I

The year 1881 was one of Pharaoh's sev-
en lean ones throughout this section. No
rain fell during July or August, and the
stunted crops were burned up by the blis-
tering drought Bill Davis had, as usual,
given his lien to a merchant here in town,
but the dry weather, plus Bill's fondness
for fishing and htmting squirrels up and
down Saluda River, gave him the poorest
prospects for even a third of a crop. When
he came down about July 15 for another
load of "rations," the supply man informed
him that the amount for which he had
mortgaged his crop was already more than
taken up, and that he could get no more
advances unless the rains came and the

outlook improved. Bill drove home that
afternoon with an empty wagon, vowing
that he intended to "plow up every fur-
row of cotton on the place," but by next
morning he realized that it would take some
real work to do this, so he reconsidered,
dug some bait, got his fishing line, and
went down the river. As he waited for
bites, he worked out an easier way of car-
rying his point .Before starting to town
some days later, he went down to his spring
and made up the wash-pot full of red clay
mush. With this he painted the wheels and
bespotted the wagon body, finishing up with
a coat on his mule's legs. When he drove
up in front of the store later in the day,
Bill was a subject of hearty congratula-
tions.

"Had a good rain, eh?"

"Well, a middlin* fair season. Little old
cloud 'hout big as a sheepskin come over
late yisterday evenin' — nuver reached no-
body but me and Sam Whatley's place — he
got a trash-mover and gully- washer."

Bill's lien was extended liberally. . . .
When the sheriff's deputy went up that way
in November to levy on the crop all was
desolation and silence about Bill's former
abode. Even the garden palings had been
burned for stove- wood.

I saw Bill among the holiday crowd of
Christmas shoppers in town and inquired if
he had not moved out rather hurriedly.

"No, no," he laughed; "*tuck my time —
didn't have nuthin' ter do but outen the fire
and call my dog. I'm gwine live next year
nearer town — on Major Watt's place. I
need a man what's got money 'nuff to run
me.

Skein II

Miss Jane S., aged *seventy-one, farmer
and spinster, through long years of indus-
try and managing for herself, has acquired
good property and is regarded as one of the
best citizens of our county. She is a good
friend of mine, and one day I was teasing
her about never having married, when she
came back at me with; "Well, I'd have you
to know it wasn't because I didn't have my
share of chances. When I was a young
gal I moved about a lots — lived awhile at
Union, then to Greenville and awhile at
Spartanburg, and fact is, I got my courtin'
so scattered it never come to nuthin' —
that's why."

Skein III

Money is scarce in this part of the coun-
try all the year, but from September to
January times are easier. During this pe-
riod the fleecy staple is being marketed.
When a negro has paid up his lien and then
sells a few bales more, all of which goes to
him without division, he is the best customer
a merchant can find. He parts with the
coin easily. Last fall a clothing salesman
had sold a patriarchal-looking old darky
whom he did not know a nice bill of wear-

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ing apparel. Thinking to say something
pleasant, he commended him with thanks
for his patronage, and added :

"I laiow you are one of the good old kind
— good church member and all that, in fact,
ril bet that at home you are one of these
good old Baptist niggers, ain't you?"

"No, sir," as he shouldered his bun-
dles and went out of the door, "you're
wrong dar; I b'longs to de white fo'kes'
chun^ myse'f. Fsc a Presbjrterian.'* The
clerk is a member of the First Baptist.

Skein IV

One of the many things a mule pretends
to be mortally afraid of is a collateral rela-
tive of his, namely, a donkey. The ordinary
cottonfield mule will throw a fit at the
sight of one of these quiet creatures, with-
out notice to the engineer or passengers.
My friend Dial, down our street, had pur-
. chased a donkey for his children. The
seller put off on him a labor union donkey.
He must have been a walking delegate, at
least he was violently opposed to work, and
being so obstinate, hard-headed and tough-
hided that the aforesaid children could do
nothing with him. He walked about the
neighborhood most of the time, serenely en-
joying an elegant leisure, grazing on open
church lots and other unfenced places about
town. One summer afternoon about dusk
Dial's donkey was quietly cropping g^ass by
the side of the street when a dar^ rode in
from the country, bare-back, on the mule
he had doubtless plowed since early dawn.
All of a sudden the negro's mule saw the
donkey and went into spasms. The rider
went over the mule's head. The mule
wheeled and trotted down behind my house
and b^^an browsing along the railroad cut
The rider brushed the dust of the street
from his "over-hauls," got his hat, and mut-
tering to himself, "I *clar to goodness, dese
folks in town ought to keep dem things up,"
he went to catch his mount The scare was
all over now (time, 30 seconds), and it was
no trouble to do this.

It is a fact that when a negro gets mad
with his mule, dog, or any of his daily ani-
mal associates and is unaware of any white
man listening, he talks to them just as
though they were human beings and ex-
pected to carry on their side of the con-
troversy. When our colored friend had
overtaken his riding animal and seized the
trailing bridle reins, he first gave him a
good, stout, broadside of a kick in the ribs to
the accompaniment of "tuhn 'roun' here,
you triflin' black rascal," and then going up
to his head he caught hold of the "blinds,"
opening them out wide and looking the
mule squarely in the eyes, he observed with
suppressed emotion:

"John, you is ^ good-lookin' mule, but
when a man's dun sed dat hit's ev'ry Gawd's
blessed thing he kin say fur you. Come up
here, sah 1" and easing himself up on John's

back, he jogged on down to the drug store
for "five cents' wu'f of physical salts and
one of dese here baby-sucks whut you puts
on a bottle fur young-uns, boss."
Laurens, S, C.

LINCOLN AND DAVIS
Editor Taylor-Trotwood Magazinx:

In your last issue Mr. J. B. Oakleaf, of
Moline, Illinois, states that Abraham Lin-
coln was not sworn into service during the
Black Hawk War, and distinctly stated that
that Davis during the war was absent on
furlough. The latter part of the statement
at least is incorrect, for while the records
show that Davis had leave of absence, in
fact, he was present during the whole of
the Black Hawk War, probably acting as a
staff officer. The fact is proven by a state-
ment made by Davis himself in 1851; he
mentions it again in a letter written in 1883,
and he also mentioned it to his secretary,
W. T. Walthal, who wrote a sketch of
Davis' life about 1885 ; again in 1887 Davis
made a statement to Mr. Aldrich, curator
of the Historical Department of Iowa, in
which he gave a number of details about the
Black Hawk War, and distinctly stated that
he took part in it. We also have the tes-
timony of A. C. Dodge and G. W. Jones,
both of whom were later in the United
States Senate with Davis, that they served
with Davis in the Black Hawk War, slept
in his tent and ate at his table. These
facts, it seems to me, proved that Davis
served in the Black Hawk War, although
the records of his company show that he was
absent on leave. He did not serve with
his regiment As to his mustering Lincoln
into service, that is perhaps doubtful,
though Lincoln believed that he was sworn
in by Davis; Davis himself was not sure
about it. It is certain that he acted as a
mustering officer at times; for instance, he
was sent by General Atkinson to enlist men
at Galena, Illinois. Lincoln was enlisted
several times, and it is possible that Davis
might have administered oath at one time.

Yours very truly,

Walter L. Fleming.

Louisiana State University, Baton Rouge,

IN THE FIRELIGHT
Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine:

In looking over the June number of your
magazine, I find in "The Family Scrap
Book" a poem under the name of "A Mem-
ory," with this introduction: From an old
scrap t)ook, and name of author lost" I
happen to have a copy of this same poem
under a different title, viz., "In the Fire-
light," and the name of the author is given.
The poem is by Eugene Field. I take the
liberty of calling this to your attention as a
point of interest Very truly yours,

Palestine, Texas. Joe H. Ransom.

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FRONT STREET, I^OOKING WEST

HATTIESBURG, MISSISSIPPI

By W. O. Thomas

HT the rate of forty-fonr miles
an hour, it is five hours' ride
from Memphis to Jackson, the
capital of the great state of Mississip-
pi. At the same rate, it is two hours
from Jackson by way of the Gulf &
Ship Island to Hattiesburg, and by
the same road it is but two hours' jour-
ney to Gulfport, the land-locked and
storm-proof deep water harbor on the
Mississippi coast. Gulfport is the natu-
ral gateway to the Isthmus of Pana-
ma, and through this gateway the im-
mense lumber and other manufactur-
ing interests of Hattiesburg will find
an ever improving outlet.

Southward the star of empire takes
its way, and Aladdin has rubbed his
lamp on Hattiesburg. No city through-
out the entire country, not even ex-
cepting the marvelous West, may
show a more rapid ratio of growth
5

than can Hattiesburg. It has only
been tw^enty-one years since the place
w~as incorporated. It then had six
hundred inhabitants and fifty-four
registered voters, with an assessed
valuation of $28,000. Even in 1900
the population was only 4,700. To-
day the population is 23,000, and the
total assessed valuation of realty and
personal property is $6,898,968. The
actual value of taxable property is es-
timated at $15,000,000. The tax levy
for 1896 was only seven and one-half
mills. Within the past year $185,000
has been expended in paving the prin-
cipal streets of the city, and $90,000
in constructing an artesian waterworks
system. More than $60,000 has been
expended in public school buildings.
In addition, the South Mississippi Col-
lege furnishes higher instruction. The
city is also provided with an admirable

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sewerage system. A well-equipped
fire department, with three stations,
safeguards the property of the citi-
zens. For these and other betterments
long-time bonds were issued at a five
per cent interest. The city govern-
ment is capable and enterprising, and
is conducted with an eye single to the
welfare of the municipality.

Two of the best indices to the
growth of a city are the postoffice and
5ie banks. Mr. A. S. Pitts assumed

States government, and an appropria-
tion has been expended for a site on
which to erect a public building.
There is no doubt but that the next
Congress will make an af^ropriation
for a suitable edifice. This should
have been done before now, but the
truth is that Hattiesburg has grown so
rapidly that she has outpaced Uncle
Sam, who is proverbially dignified and
f)onderous in his movements.

For the same reason, Hattiesburg

O'FERRALI, BROS.,
L«argest Department Store in South Mississippi.

charge of the Hattiesburg postoffice
September i, 1900. For the fiscal
>ear ending June, 1901, the gross re-
ci-'ipts of the office were $10,663.71.
For the year ending June, 1907, the
receipts were $43,650.79. In the be-
ginning it only reqii.r -^ the services
of Mr. Pitts and one assi:^tant to per-
form the duties. Now there are em-
ployed ten clerks and five city carriers,
and in addition a special delivery boy.
The office is now in the first class. Th.^.
growing importance of Hattiesburg
has been recognized by the United

has not the depot facilities she deserves.
The city has four railroads, the New
Orleans & Northeastern, the Gulf &
Ship Island, the Mobile, Jackson &
Kansas City, and the Mississippi Cen-
tral. A movement is now on foot to
build a union station, which would cer-
tainly be the logical and proper thing
to do. Because of its geographical
and commercial importance, Hatties-
burg is entitled to a $500,000 union de-
pot. It is understood that the most of
the railroads are favorable to this
movement, and the citizens certainly

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HATTIESBURG, MISSISSIPPI

117

owe it to their beautiful and growing
city to insist that it be done.

But when one turns to the banking
industry of Hattiesburg the signifi-
cance of the city's unexampled pros-
perity and substantial growth become
apparent. There are four banks, with
a total capitalization of $675,000, and
deposits amounting to $2,373,000. The

a banking capital of $325,000. It has
a surplus of $125,000, undivided prof-
its of $39,000, and deposits amounting
to $1,177,000. I. P. Carter is the presi-
dent, and F. W. Foote the active vice
president. Mr. Foote not only pos-
sesses fine executive and administra-
tive ability, but is one of Hattiesburgf's
foremost citizens along all lines of cn-

BANK OF COMMBKCB

following table will show their relative
standing :

Und'v'd
Banks. Capital. Surplus. Profits.

1st Nat. $100,000 $ 60,000 $18,000

T. A B. Co 160,000 14,000

Cltlxens' B. 100,000 22,562

Nat. B. of C 325,000 125,000 . 39,000

All of these banks are magnificently
housed. The National Bank of Com-
merce is the strongest banking insti-
tution in the state of Mississippi, with

deavor calculated to promote the inter-
ests of the city. The building in which
this bank transacts business is very ele-
gant and ornate. The front is Ro-
manesque, made of Indiana limestone.
The bank fixtures are of marble, oxi-
dized nickel and mahogany. The
building and its furnishings cost
$50,000. This great banking in-
stitution is conducted along liber-
al lines, and it is a common saying

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ii8 THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

MAIN STREET SCHOOL

SOUTH MISSISSIPPI COLLEGE

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HATTIESBURG, MISSISSIPPI

119

in Hattiesburg that it has done more
to promote deserving enterprises, ex-
tend timely lines of credit and foster
not only the material, but the ethical
welfare of the community than any
similar institution in the state.

Hattiesburg is in the heart of the
richest pine belt in the world. Many
lumber mills are located here and at
tributary points. It is estimated that
it will take thirty years to exhaust the
timber of this section, even at the pres-
ent rapid rate of consumption. More

the originator of the "One Piece Felt"
mattress. This company has its own
plant for making excelsior from the
resinous pine that abounds in this sec-
tion.

Of churches, schools, fraternal so-
cieties and social clubs, Hattiesburg
is well to the front. The Methodist
church, now building, is to cost $100,-
000, and will be the handsomest church
building in the state. The Hotel Hat-
tiesburg is a hostelry that is the pride
of the city. It is a five-story building,

HOTEL HATTIESBURG

than three hundred cars of lumber are
handled tlirough Hattiesburg everyday.
But the city has many other manufac-
turing enterprises. They include lum-
ber, sash, door and blind factories,
wagon factories, iron foundries, ma-
chine shops, fertilizer works, denatur-
ing alcohol plant, bottling works and
many wood-working establishments.
The car shops of the Mississippi Cen-
tral Railway are located here. One of
the important enterprises is the Dixie
Mattress Company, that ships its pro-
ducts all over the country, and that is

and cost $350,000 to build. It has
150 rooms, many of them en suite,
with baths, is elegantly furnished and
modern in every respect. It is con-
ducted on the European plan. The
Hotel Klondyke is a three-story build-
ing, has seventy-five rooms and enjoys
a remarkable patronage.

The South Mississippi infirmary is
a modern three-story structure, and
cost $25,000. It is well equipped for
clinics and as a training school for
nurses and treats all non-infectious
diseases. Dr. W. W. Crawford is the

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

president and Dr. B. Lampton Craw-
ford, secretary and treasurer.

Hattiesburg has two of the bright-
est daily newspapers I have yet come
across. The News is a morning paper.
It is owned by a stock company, with
H. A. Camp as president and F. R.
Birdsall as business manager. Frank
Hamilton Conoley, who is known from
the Rio Grande to the Aurora Boreal-
is, is its versatile city editor. The
Progress is an afternoon paper. The
owner is Wm. MoflFtt, Jr., a product

the spirit of its citizenship, the human
dynamo, pulsating with life and en-
ergy, nothing is herein set down, for
that must be personally felt to be ap-
preciated. It may be said, however,
that although Hattiesburg has had a
wonderfully rapid growth, the city
possesses every evidence of a perma-
nent progressiveness. Many years
from now the timber will be exhaust-
ed. But there will still remain the
land. Agriculture is the real source
of all solid, durable prosperity. At

CARTER BUII«DING

of Tennessee newspaperdom. Mr.
MoflFitt came here about two years
ago, bought the Progress, a lumbering,
antiquated sheet, dumped everything,
put in new material and is now pub-
lishing an aggressive, influential pa-
per. Nearly every member of his of-
fice force is a Tennessean. Indeed,
there are a good many Tennesseans
here, which is only further confirma-
tion of the virile qualities of the citi-
zens of the Volunteer State.

This is a fleeting pen sketch of Hat-
tiesburg*s past and present. But of

the present rate of increase, which is
pretty sure to continue, Hattiesburg
in ten more years will have a popula-
tion of 40,000 people. By that time
the Isthmian canal will be completed,
and this will bring into operation new
factors that will contribute to tlie con-
tinued development of southern Mis-
sissippi. This section will be eight
hundred miles nearer the outlying
markets of the world than the Eastern
seaboard, and about two thousand
miles nearer than the Pacific slope.
And Hattiesburg is only seventy miles

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HATTIESBURG, MISSISSIPPI 12 1

COURT HOUSB

SOUTH MISSISSIPPI INFIRMARY

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

from the tangent that takes a straight
shoot through the Isthmus of Panama.

Hattiesburg is already an important
railroad center, and is destined to be
more so. A preliminary survey has
been made of the Birmingham & Mis-
sissippi Southern. This company has
been incorporated by New Orleans and
Qiicago- capital to build a line from
Birmingham via Hattiesburg to Baton
Rouge, with connections at New Or-
leans. As all roads formerly led to
Rome, so will all railroads running
through this southern belt of country
wish to tap the growing city of Hat-
tiesburg.

Hattiesburg real estate is a good
thing to invest in. Many small for-

tunes have been made in this line with-
in the past few years. Yet prices are
not inflated, and there is no wildcat
speculation. There is simply a steady,
substantial growth, an expression of
confidence in a municipality that is le-
gitimately enlarging its sphere of use-
fulness because geographically and
commercially the state' of Mississippi
requires at this point an entro-point to
subserve the interests of her people
and utilize to the best advantage the
bounties of mother nature.

For further information regarding
Hattiesburg it would be well for the
prospective home-seeker to address
Mr. C. F. Larson, secretary of the
Chamber of Commerce.

OLD BLUE COMMANDING

By C. F. Cartwright

I LD BLUE sat bare-
^ headed in the broil-
ing July sun, com-
^ f ortably engaged in
I burying his feet in
i the hot, sandy dust
f and watching it
!*•• come up in little
'* glistening heaps be-
tween the cracks of his toes, and with-
al chuckling to himself. His high
spirits were not in the least dampened
by the fact that the long line of blue
soldiers trudging down the lane had in
their midst the last of the live stock
on his mistress' plantation. Old Blue
had compensations of his own.

First among these was the fact that
the Bluecoats had not gotten all that
they had come after, for safely hidden
away in a small secret corner of the
linen closet, which Old Blue himself
had prepared, lay his master's friend,
and, as Old Blue confidently told him-
self, his young mistress' future hus-
band, Harry Lester, whose capture
had been the primary object of the
unwelcome visitors.

The second cause of Old Blue's con-

gratulations was trailing along some
hundred yards behind the line of sol-
diers, his old time enemy, Dick,
"done run oflF to the Yankees."

Old Blue had hated Dick longer
than he could remember, for he was
the only one, outside of his master's
family, that had dared to dispute his
authority on the plantation, and he
now considered that his hate was jus-
tified in the sight of the Lord, for his
old enemy had gone the way that so
many "field niggers" had gone be-
fore, and had cast his fortunes with
the enemies of his master. Old Blue
was pleased with himself, also, for he
considered himself victor in the war
of words that had been fought before
Dick's departure. Dick's tongue had
always been a boastful one, and his
final announcement to Old Blue had
been that **hit ain't gwineter be long
'fore I's er capt'in, ridin' *roun' on er
great big horse lack Mr. Ferguson, en
den I's comin' back an' see who is boss
ob dis plantashun."

"Yas, I hopes you is," Old Blue had
rejoined, running his hand suggestive-
ly over the piece of willow that he

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OLD BLUE COMMANDING

123

carried as a walking stick, 'lease I
ain't neber gi'n a Yankee cap'n er
lickin' yit, but my time's a-comin', hit
sholy am."

The inmates of the house, however,
were not in nearly so congratulatory
.a frame of mind as Old Blue. He,
with true negro philosophy, was let-
ting the troubles of the morrow take
care of themselves, while Mrs. Pritch-
ard and her daughter, Lucile, the onfy
members of the fanjily that had been
left at home, were already engaged in
concocting a plan whereby they could
get their friend safely through the
Federal lines, for they knew well the
danger that he ran, uniformed as he
was (he had on a suit that he had
captured that was an3rthing but gray),
and inside the enemy's lines.

Harry Lester's visit into the ene-
my's country had not been one of busi-
ness — ^at least, his captain would not
have called it such. He had been a
neighbor and a friend of the Pritch-
ards for years, and it might be added
that it was not his fault that he had
not been something more than a friend
to one member of the family, and
when his regiment had camped some
five miles south of their plantation,
he had been unable to resist the temp-
tation of running up to see them, es-
pecially as he had heard that Mrs.
Pritchard and Lucile were the only
ones left at home.

"I sholy is glad ter see you', Marse
Harry," Old Blue had declared; when
he rode up. 'We ain't seed nuffin' but
Yankees so long dat we mos' forgot
how our own folks lodes. When hit
ain't scMne uv dey common sojers rid-
in' 'roun', hit's Marse Carter er Cap'n
Ferguson, er some uv de yuther offi-
cers settin' in de parlor talkin' ter
Miss Lucile, an' hit's mos'ly Cap'n
Ferguson, too, suh. I's b'en mouty
oneasy de las' mont', Marse Harry,
kase dat ar Cap'n Ferguson, he come
too of en en he stay too long teh suit
me, kase we ain't got no room fer
Yankee blood in our family, we sho
ain't. But I reckon yo' gwineter put
er stop ter dat, ain't yo', Marse Har-

•'Why, Old Blue, if Miss Lucile

likes to have Captain Ferguson call
on her, I don't see how I'm going to
stop it," Lester had replied, not with-
out an uneasy frown, however.

"Now, yo' quit yo' foolin', Marse
Harry," the old negro had exclaimed
impatiently. "Don' yo' know dat Miss
Lucile ain't gwine ter fool wid no
Yankee when dar's a gray coat 'roun',
en' 'specially when hit's you whut's
inside dat coat? Des yo' let Old Blue
manage dis hyar bizness, en' we'se
gwine ter see ef enny Yankee cap'n
kin come down hyar en' teck Miss
Lucile erway frum we all. Hit cayn't
be done, suh."

Through some source, however, the
Federals had gotten notice of Lester's
presence that night and had been all
but successful in surprising and cap-
turing him, so that the principal prob-
lem that confronted him then was to
get back to his own regiment with a
whole skin and a straight neck. This
feat was made all the harder by the
fact that the Pritchard plantation lay
just in the Federal lines, in a strip of
country that was alternately raided
by Federal and Confederate, and from
this guerilla warfare both sides had
drifted into the practice of dealing
with any one suspected of being a
spy in a rather summary manner and
of considering the evidence later.

Presently Mrs. Pritchard came to
the door and Old Blue was called in
to the consultation within.

"The first thing is to see how we
stand," Harry said. "Did they find my
horse. Old Blue?"

"No, suh; he's down in de ditch in
de back fiel'," the negro replied.

"That being the case, the only way
I can figure out is for me to stay in
hiding here until to-night and then
try to make my way back on the
horse," Harry suggested, looking
from one to the other to see if they
could propose a better plan.

"Dat's bes'," Old Blue commented,
"kase hit's er mouty close watch
whut's gwine ter be kep' on dis hyar
house teh-day,en'ef dey sees enn)rthing
whut looks lak er Rebel dey's gwne-
ter be down hyar lak er swa'm er
bees."

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

And so it was arranged. Old Blue
being stationed as sentind and general
watchman.

Tbe evening passed without any dis-
turbance except an occasicmal alarm
by Old Blue as a party of soldiers
would pass the house, at which times
Harry was hustled away to his cub-
by hole in the closet, while Mrs.
Pritchard and Lucile would compose
themselves to their sewing as best they
could, and Old Blue industriously at-
tadced the wood pile, that everytihmg
might appear as natural as possible.

Finally darimess fell, the curtains
were drawn, and Lucile prepared
supper for the three of them in her
motiier's room, so as to be near Har-
ry's hiding-place in case of a sudden
alarm, it having been decided that it
was best for him to wait until after
ten before venturing out. Lucile had
been so solicitous for Harry's safety
durii^ the day that he had forgotten
Old Blue's words of the night before*
in regard to Captain Ferguson, and
was enjoying the last hours of her
company in a peaceful frame of mind
when the door was suddenly thrown
open and Old Blue bolted in. "Mis-
sus, de yard am full uv Yankees, en'
Cap'n Ferguson, he am dar. Sez he
am come to call on Miss Lucile. Dis
way, quick, Marse Harry."

At the mention of Captain Fergu-
son's name, Ludle's face whitened.
"Oh, Harry," she exclaimed, "what
have I done? I told Captain Fergu-
son he could call to-night, and — and
I forgot to tell him not to. What
shall I do? Oh, oh I" but Old Blue
had dragged the surprised Harry away
toward the linen closet. In a few min-
utes he reappeared, and crouching on
a low stool at his mistress' feet, began
in the loud voice of the negro story
teller: "Yas'm, I seed dat ghost wid
my own eyes. She was all dressed in
white, en' she riz right up out'n de
groun' and 'gun ter glide 'long to'rds
me, en' dis hyar nigger wus des fixin'
— why, bless de Lawd, ef dar ain't
Marse Ferguson ! How yo' do, Marse
Ferguson? Teck dis hyar seat. I's
gfwine ter see erbout yo' boss, suh,
kase he mought slip his bridle out dar
ef he ain't tied good."

Old Blue had left the door partly
ajar, and Captain Ferguson, having^
laiocked once or twice without re-
ceiving an answer, had pushed it open
and looked in. He was a manly look-
ing young fellow, of about twenty-six,
and one to give good cause for Old
Blue's "oneasiness.'' He spoke to
Mrs. Pritchard, and then tumiiug to-
Lucile he noticed her agitation. *^''ou
aVe ill. Miss Pritchard,'^he exclaimed ;
"let me get you a glass of \Vc.v:r, or
perhaps I can send one of my men for
a doctor. I brought quite a squad
with me to-night, as there is a rumor
of a band of Rebels being in this part
of the coimtry."

Lucile was about to reply as best
she could when Old Blue came to-
the rescue. "Dat des de way she act
ebery time I tells her dat ghos' story,
Marse Ferguson," he exclaimed. "I's
des nachully gwine ter quit tellin' her
dat story, en' go back ter de tales I
used ter tell her when she wuz er IW
baby, 'bout ol' Br'er Rabbit en' Br'er
Fox. Lenune teck yo' hat, suh."

Lucile had by this time recovered
herself sufficiently to support Old
Blue's story, and the crisis passed.
The old negro concerned himself to
such an extent about the wants of his
guest, and talked so much and so cor-
dially, however, and this in sudi con-
trast to his usual air of quiet watch-
fulness and hostility that Captain Fer-
guson could not help but take notice of
it.

"I'm glad to see you feeling so well,.
Old Blue," he remarked jdcingly.
"You must have fixed up a plan to
run us heathen Yankees bade home."'

"Yas, suh; oh, yas, suh, we sho''
gwine ter do dat," Old Blue replied,,
confidently. "We des waitin' twel we
gits good en' ready, en' den we gwine
ter bresh yo'alls clean back under de
Norf pole."

"Well, for my part, I don't care how
soon this war is ended," Captain Fer-
guson replied. "There are certain
people that one can't be at war widi,.
anyhow," he continued, turning to
Lucile.

Captain Ferguson, wiA the sensi-
tiveness of all well bred natures,.
quickly perceived that both Mrs^

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OLD BLUE COMMANDING

125

Pritchard and Lucile were laboring
tinder some kind of restraint, and feel-
ing that in somt unaccountable way he
was the cause of it, he decided to make
his call as short as possible. Accord-
ingly, he gave out some excuse for
havii^ to be in camp early that night,
and Old Blue hastened out into the
hall for his hat The door had hard-
ly opened, however, when from with-
out there came a confused babble of
negro voices, followed by a short scuf-
fle, and Did:, with Old Blue a close
second, burst into the room.

"What does this mean, Dick?" Mrs.
Pritchard exclaimed, sharply, while
Old Blue stationed himself where he
could not be seen by Captain Fergu--
son, and began to motion to him to
keep quiet, seconding these motions
with threatenmg grimaces of all the
dire things that were going to happen
to him if he did not.

Dick, disr^;arding Old Blue's hand
telegraphy, looked past Mrs. Pritch-
ard to Captain Ferguson. "You black
scotmdrel, what do you mean by com-
ing into the ladies' presence in this
manner?*' the Captain demanded.

"De enemy, suh, he am in dat clos-
et," Didc began excitedly. "I seed dat
nigger teck him in dar. He — "

''Whose enemy, and who the devil
are you, anyhow?" Ferguson cut in.

"Me, suh? I's a Union sojer. I
joined de army ter-day. Marse Harry
Lester am in dat closet, en' he am er
Rebel spy, en' hif s my duty ter report
de fee's ter yo', suh, kase — kase, I's
gwine ter be er cap'n ef we ketches
him, suh, an' hit's meh duty." Dick
rolled the last words with unction,
casting a triumphant glance at Old
Blue.

At the mention of Lester's name,
Captain Ferguson suddenly imder-
stood the situation — ^Lucile's agita-
tion. Old Blue's cordiality and his
hostess' constraint, were all plain.
"Mrs. Pritchard," he said, stiffly, "I
fear that I shall have to search your
house. God knows I would rather
have found this man anywhere else
than here, but it can't be helped now.
I will call my men."

With this, he started toward the

door, but Old Blue was already on his
knees in front of him, while Ludle)
with a look of terror, had laid a de-
taining hand on his arm. Before any-
thing could be said, however, Harry
Lester himself appeared from the lin-
en closet and pished his gun in Fergu-
son's hands.

"It won't be necessary to call help.
Captain," he said. "To oflFer resist-
ance with your men on the outside
would only be to cause trouble for my
friends here. I surrender."

Ferguson hesitated before accepting
the proflFered gun. "Mr. Lester," he
said, "I feel that you should know that
it is as a spy that you are taken. You
know the penalty."

"Certainly," Lester replied, "but I
see no reason for a struggle that can
only bring misfortune to my friends,
and can Imve but one result for me."

"Then I must call my men," Fergu-
son responded, "but first I wish to say
to you and Mrs. Pritchard, and — ^and
Miss Lucile, that I came here to-night
on a different errand from this, and
as God is my witness, I wish as hearti-
ly as any of you that I had not found
you here." With this he again turned
to the door.

Lester remained motionless. He
had made his decision and now await-
ed the results. Lucile attempted to
detain Ferguson, but he, fearing for
his own resolution, started abruptly
for the door, and she seeing that he
would not listen to her, buried her
face on her mother's bosom: "Oh,
mother," she sobbed, "I — I have killed
him."

Old Blue was the only one who re-
fused to give up hope. He was still
kneeling, and when the Captain turned
from Lucile he found his knees firmly
grasped by the old negro.

"Fur de lub uv Jesus, Marse Fer-
guson!" he cried, "lis'en ter dis hyar
nigger jes' ha'f er minute. I ain't
gwine ter keep yo' lone. Marse Fer-
guson, yo' ain't know whut yo' doin'
when yo' turns Marse Harry ober ter
dem sojers. Yo' ain't des kilHn' him,
yo's killin' young mistis, dar, too.
Ain't yo' done hear her say dat she
done iciirm, en' don't yo* know dat

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

she gwine ter think uv dat, twel final-
ly she gwine ter wish she daid, too?
Marse Ferguson, she done lak yo' all
dis time, an' she done lak yo' moughty
well, too. En' don' yo* kiow dat she
gwine ter hate yo', gwine ter hate yo'
des lak er snake ef yo' comes hyar en'
gits Marse Harry hung? Marse Fer-
guson, I knows whut yo' come hyar
fer ter-night. I's been watchin'
moughty well, en' I knows. Yo' come
hyar ter ax my mistis ter ma'y yo'.
Marse Ferguson, Miss Lucile does
lak yo', but she done lub Marse Har-
ry. Now, s'posin' yo' gits Marse Har-
ry killed, en' dat kills Miss Lucile?
How yo' reckin yo' gwine ter feel?
Yo' gwine ter feel des lak er muhder-
er, en' yo' gwine ter be one, too. Den
Marse Harry ain't no spy, nuther. He
done rid th'oo yo' lines, 'spectin'
ebery minute, ter git shot, knowin'
dat ef he git cotched he gwine ter be
hung, des fur ter git er sight ob Miss
Lucile, en' now he gotter hang fer hit.
Look at dem clo'es he got on. Does
yo' think he put 'em on ter fool yo'all ?
No, suh; dat's ebery rag he got ter
his name, him whut used ter ride
'roun' hyar wid clo'es ter frow erway.
I's dressed better'n him, en' he give
me dese bery clo'es 'fo' he went erway,
kase dey wa'n't good nuff fer 'im.
Marse Ferguson, ef yo' got ter hang
somebody, des teck dis hyar ol' nig-
ger en' hang him. I's g^ttin' ol', en'
Marse Harry hyar am young, en' den
dey ain't nobody gfwine ter miss des
er po' ol' nigger Isk me. Ef yo'll des
let Marse Harry go I's gwine ter
come wid yo' ez quiet ez er lam', en'
I ain't gwine ter gib yo' no trouble
'tall, en' I gwine ter pray fer yo',
Marse Ferguson, en' I gwine ter bless
yo'. I gwine ter pray fer yo' while
dey tyin' de knot, en' I gfwine ter bless
yo' while de rope's tightenin' 'roun'
my neck. Marse Ferguson, ca)m't yo'
let dis ol' nigger do dat much fer his
young mistis?"

Ferguson had stopped and stood
looking down at the old negro, but
when Old Blue ceased speaking, he
turned to Lucile. "Lucile — Miss
Pritchard," he corrected himself, "is

what he sa)rs true? Do you— do
you — "

Lucile placed her hand in Harry's.
"If he escapes I — ^we will be married,"
she stammered.

"And you, Mr. Lester," Ferguson
continued. "Will you swear that you
came through our lines solely for the
purpose of seeing Miss Lucile, and
that you will not report anything con-
cerning our army to your commander
when you return?'

"I swear it on my honor as a gen-
tleman," Lester replied.

"Then duty be hanged," Ferguson
exclaimed. "I can't do it. Miss Lu-
cile," he continued, and if his voice
trembled there was none present who
thought him the less manly for it, "if
I have ever hoped to have my future
I know how useless such hopes were.
Allow me to wish you and Mr. Lester
all the happiness that I know is in
home brightened by a Southern rose,
store for you, and then I will say
good-bye. Old Blue, you have done
a good night's work to-night. I owe
you my peace of mind, and your mis-
tress owes you her husband."

"Thank ye', suh, thank ye," Old
Blue responded, once more the polite
servant

As Ferguson started for the door he
spied Didk, the candidate for a cap-
taincy, standing in the opposite cor-
ner of the room. "I presume you can
fiimish a night's entertainment for
our future captain, can't you, Old
Blue?" he asked.

"Lawdy, I sho^y kin," Old Blue re-
sponded, piously, and Ferguson
walked out into the night

Mrs. Pritchard collapsed into her
big chair, while Harry drew Lucile
down by his side on the little stool.
Old Blue silently signed to Dick, and
the two stole out together.

Presently up from the horse lot
there came the sound of wailing and
gnashing of teeth. "I's done quit pin-
in' ter lay my stick ercross er Yarfcee
cap'n's back," Old Blue was panting
between strokes. "De/s er heap too
good fer Ol' Blue. Jes' er plain, no-
count nigger is good 'nuff fer me !"

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RECONSTRUCTION DAYS IN
ARKANSAS

By David A. Gates

I O every Southerner
who faiows of the
days JHSt after the
war there is a pecu-
liar significance in
the word "Recon-
struction." It sug-
gests gTS,ity violence,
lawlessness, blood-
shed, Ku - Klux -
Klans, marauding militia and carpet-
bag officials But with all its ugliness
the reconstruction period was not
without its amusing incidents connect-
ed in some way with things govern-
mental.

In the state archives at Little Rock,
Arkansas, is the record of the trial of

Judge McG , a carpet-bagger. The

articles of impeachment charged the
judge with malfeasance, misfeasance,
corruption and habitual drunkenness.
He admitted the truth of the latter
charge and agreed to resign if the
other counts were withdrawn. In the
evidence taken by the legislative com-
mittee are the two following stories
which indicate the manner in which

Judge McG conducted his court:

A yoimg man charged with horse
stealing was brought before the court
He plead guilty, but before sentence
the defendant's attorney told some-
thing of the prisoner's history. He
explained that the young criminal was
from one of the best families in the
county; that his mother and father
were consistent members of the church
and that the son had received the best
training. In view of the defendant's
youth and social environment, leniency
was asked. The prosecuting attorney
confirmed the statement of the defend-
ant's counsel and expressed the hope

that the court would impose a light

sentence. Judge McG , who was

"three sheets in the wind," commanded
the defendant to stand up.

"Young man," he asked, "is what
these gentlemen say of you true?"

"It is," answered the prisoner.

"You were brought up by good par-
ents who always told you it was wrong
to steal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, young man," concluded the
court, "in consideration of your many
opportunities and advantages this
court is going to shoot you up for ten
years."

^ * 1^

On another occasion the judge was
holding court in Columbia county.
He was "sounding the docket" when
he stumbled on the case of Solomon
Rubenstein vs. Andrew Jackson Wash-
ington.

"What is this suit about?" he de-
manded of one of the attorneys in the
case.

"It is a suit involving a horse," ex-
plained the lawyer.

"Mr. Qerk," commanded his honor,
turning to the clerk of the court, "enter
an order dismissing this suit. You
fellows are mistaken if you think this
court is going to sit here and Usten to
a lot of lies in a law suit between a
thieving negro and a lying Jew over
a pestle-tailed pony."

4: 4c 9K

The story of the election of the
negro lawyer to the f)osition of judge
of the municipal court in Chicago and
the squirming on the part of some of
his constituents was told in the news-
papers a few weeks ago. The incident
was interesting chiefly because it

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128

THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

proved that on the race question there
is no difference between the white man
North and the white man South.
Negro judges are acceptable to the
white man when they have to hold
court for the other fellow. In many
sections of the South during the days
of reconstruction, and for many years
after, there were negro justices of the
peace and occasionally a neg^o judge
of the court. These conditions were
objectionable but there were humorous
sides to negro courts and the humor
furnished some relief to the situation.
A slave to-day, an American citizen
to-morrow; a menial to-day, to-mor-
row presiding over the court in which
his former master was either lawyer
or litigant — it was a sudden and not an
easy change for the negro. Accus-
tomed to regard his master as superior
to himself, it took something more
than legislative enactment to change
this feeling. When "Ole Marster" ap-
peared in court the law or the facts,
whichever was necessary, was found
in his favor.

In the early seventies. Colonel

Charles C , who gained his title in

the Confederate army, was a lawyer
and planter in southern Arkansas. All
the county offices were held by negroes
and Isaac Wilson, a former slave in

Colonel C 's family, was a justice

of the peace. Josiah Whitley, carpet-
bag member of the legislature, brought
suit on a note in Wilson's court. The
note was made by John Saunders, ad-
ministrator de bonis non of the estate
of Cyrus Saunders. Whitley repre-
sented himself and Colonel C

represented the defendant. Whitley
proved the execution of the note, the
possession of it by himself and rested
on the presumption that it was unpaid.
The defendant offered no evidence.
If it could have been proven the de-
fense was that the note had been sat-
isfied, but both parties to it had been
killed in the war and the only way

whereby Colonel C could hope to

win his case was "aliunde the rec-
ord."

In his opening address, Whitley ex-
pressed his opinion that the court,

'"who was so learned in the law/' could
do but one thing — give judgment for
the plaintiff.

"If the Court pleases,** began Colo-
nel C , addressing his former slave,

"the defense to this note is that it has
been fully satisfied. We have intro-
duced no witnesses because the lips of
all who could testify have been sealed
in death. The maker of this note fell
before the enemy's breastworks at
Franklin ; the owner of it went to his
death under the stars and bars at
Chickamauga. Their voices are hushed
forever but this note bears on its face
evidence that it has been satisfied.
Read it: *I promise to pay to bearer
five hundred dollars. John Saunders,
Administrator, de bonis non.' What
sort of language is this and what does
it mean? * Administrator de bonis non'
is not English, that we know. 'French'
did counsel say? I have lived here a
neighbor to our French cousins in
Louisiana forty years and I never
heard such language as that fall from
the lips of a Frenchman. 'Latin?'
Your Honor will take judicial notice
that it is not Latin. No, it comes from
beyond the grave in dead language.
And what have the heroes of Franklin
and Chickamauga written into this
note that some Daniel likeYourHonor
might interpret? 'Administrator de
bonis non' translated from Sanscript
into English means *t-h-i-s n-o-t-e
h-a-s b-e-e-n p-a-i-d' and man should
not dispute a message coming from
the dead."

Whitley shouted his protest against
any such "stuff" being read into the
note.

"Dis cote fin's fur defender," an-
nounced His Honor. "Ah ain' gwine
ter projick wid no daid men. En
fudder mo," he continued, addressing
Whitley, "dis cote am 'vided in 'is
'pinion es ter wudder er no 'e orter
fine de plaintiff fer contemp' er cote
er sen' 'im ter jail wid'out bail fer
'spirin' ter rob de daid."

Another negro justice of the peace
was holding court in the same county.
His former master was attorney in the
case. Both the law and the facts were

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RECONSTRUCTION DAYS IN ARKANSAS

129

against "Marse George." The oppos-
ing counsel made a strong presenta-
tion of the case, but the court decided
against him.

"I propose to appeal to the Circuit
Court," announced the outraged law-
yer.

His Honor looked to "Marse
George" for a hint as to what was
proper to do. This thing of "pealin"
cases was new to him. "Marse George"
shook his head, meaning to indicate
that the losing party could not be pre-
vented from appealing, but the court
misconstrued the headshake.

"Naw, suh," he fired back at the as-
tonished lawyer who proposed to go
higher, "yo' cain' do dat, nudder. E^r
ain' g^ine ter be no 'pealin' ober dis
Cote's haid."

•Louis Gregory, a full blooded Afri-
can, with a head half a yard long, was
a justice of the peace in Pine Bluff,
Arkansas. He held court* in the
Darktown section of the town and
dealt with a tough element of "coons."
An all around bad man was brought
before him on the charge of assault.
The offense was aggravated and the
court imposed upon the offender the
limit in the shape of a fine and gav»*
him a severe "raking over the coals."

The bully was afraid to show any
resentment in open court for Gregory
had a reputation of jailing for con-
tempt those who took exception to his
lectures. But court adjourned and
"his honor" became for the time be-
ing a private citizen. In the full en-
joyment of a few moments of rest
from his judicial labors and with de-
liberation, public care, etc., deeply en-
graven on his brow, Gregory was
strolling along one of Darktown's
thorou^fares when he met the bully
he had lectured.

"Now, Mistah Griggory, yo 'suited
me 'case yo' had me whar Ah could'n
he'p merse'f, 'n now um gwineterwipe
up dc 3rcath wid ye; jes git yo'se'f
riddy fer er frailin'," said the cham-
{Mon of Darktown, drawing off his
coat and winding himself up for a
swing at Gregory's long head.

Some lawyer had vouchsafed to
Gregory the information that the court
of a justice of the peace was always
open and it stood him well in hand
now that he remembered this. Quick
as a flash off went his hat with the an-
nouncement :

"De jestice cote er Vaugine town-
ship, Jefferson county, Arkansas, am
now open pursuin' ter erjoumment
an' am riddy for de transakshun uv
any bizness, whutever may come be-
fo' it. Now hit me I Now hit me!"
he dared.

"You know Mistah Griggory, Ah
wuz jes' er projickin' wid you," said
the bully, all of the fight scared out of
him.

"Huh, projickin', wuz ye?" retorted
His Honor. "Mebbe yo' wuz, but hit
'peared to dis cote dat yo' wuz
a-honin' fer trouble. De Cote will let
yo' go dis time but don' yo' projick
wid de state uv Arkansas no mo."
« « «

In a backwoods township of a
"Blackbelt" county in South Arkansas,
Squire Harrison, an old time negro,
sat in judgment on the small con-
troversies of a population that was
ninety per cent black. Among the
files at the court house is the transcript
of the proceedings before 'Squire
Harrison in a case brought to the cir-
cuit court on appeal. The transcript,
which was written by a negro with
some education, went into the minutest
detail. It told how the case was called,
the parties announced themselves
ready for trial and how the trial pro-
gressed to the conclusion of the
"charge" by the court. After the
charge, the jury, according to the
transcript, deliberated for hours but
failed to agree and then came into
open court and announced that it could
not agree upon a verdict because Nick
Manley, one of the jurors, would not
agree with the other eleven. "Where-
upon and wherefore" the transcript
faithfully recorded, "the said Nick
Manley was removed from the jury
and the constable, who would agree
upon a verdict, was placed thereon."

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INDEX TO VOLUME FIVE

DESCRIPTIVE, HISTORICAL, BIOGRAPHICAL

A City of Parks. (Illustrated.) J. K. Collins 526

A Famous Will Against Time. (Illustrated.) Emma Look Scott 326

A Nation's Nativity. (Illustrated.) Moncure Lyne 56

A Practical Solution of the Race Problem. Gen. R. D. Johnston ' 277

A True Analysis of the Human Voice. Carl Young 678

A Visit to the Bedouins. (Illustrated.) Homer Davenport 514

A Visit to Wonder Cave. (Illustrated.) T. M. Johns 578

.Alcoholism in Its New Role. David A. Gates 550

.\pRiL IN the Annals of Our Country. Susie Gentry 83

.\s I (jO. Horatio Lankford King 186

Battijeships and Cruisers of the United States Navy. (Series of Illustrations.) . . 608

Books and Authors. Lillian Kendrick Byrn 103, 225, 335, 443, 613, 737

Captain Bill McDonald, of Texas.. (Illustrated.) W. D. Hornaday 24

Chattanooga, Tennessee. (Illustrated.) W. O. Thomas and H. M. Wiltze 735^

Confederate Soldiers' Home, Nashville, Tennessee (Illustrated.) 114

David Glasgow Farragut. Robert L. Taylor 347

Davy Crockett. Robert L. Taylor '. 505

Florida Scenes. ( Series of Illustrations.) ' 42^

Fragments. Bert Finck 513

Historic Highways of the South. John Trotwood Moore.

(Continued from Volume IV.)

XIX— The Stone Grave People of Tennessee. (Illustrated.) 3

XX— The Hermitage As It Is To-Day. (Illustrated.) 137

XXI— The Scout Trail of Sam Davis. (Illustrated.) 293

XXII — The Trail of the King's Mountain Men. (Illustrated.) 390

XXIII— The Trail of the King's Mountain Men — Concluded. (Illustrated.).. 535

XXIV— Chickamauga. (Illustrated.) 71^

History of the Hals. John Trotwood Moore.

(Continued from Volume IV.)

XIX— Hait's Coons 84

XX — Edward F. Geers, the Great Driver of the Hals. (Illustrated.) 196

XXI — Star Pointer. (Illustrated.) 251

Industrial Education in the South.

Southern School of Photography. Lillian Kendrick Byrn 382

Winthrop Normal and Industrial School. Aquila Craig Glenn 67^

Southern Industrial Educational Association. Martha S. Gielow 67

Jefferson Davis. . (Illustrated.) Robert L. Taylor 229

Little Citizens of the South. . (Portraits.) 31, 312, 532

Men of Affairs. . (Illustrated.) 47. 150, 261, 368, 523, 71^

April — Wm. G. McAdoo, Carle J. Blenner, Wm. Allen Blair, Dr. Clarence K.

Crawford, Rev. Charles R. Brown.
May — Wm. J. Oliver, H. S. Houston, Enrique C. Creel, Dr. Wm. M. Polk,

W. I. Thomas.
June — T. M. Campbell, W. W. Finley, James Newton Baskett, Geo. N. Coffey,

Fletcher R. Harris.
July — Jno. M. Culp, Dr. J. H. Claiborne, John Cecil Clay, Dr. E. R. Corson,

Andrew R. Blakely.
August — J. T. Harahan, Samuel Untermeyer, W. J. Armfield.
September — John Henry Kirk, J. W. Fountain, Richard Lee Feam, Julian
Harris, R. G. Waterhouse.

Modern Lumbering. ( Illustrated.) Waldon Fawcett 270

Napoleon. (Continued from Vol. IV.) Anna Erwin Woods.

Part VIII— Napoleon III. (Illustrated.) 99

Nashville : A City of Opportunity. (Illustrated.) W. O. Thomas 445

National Soldiers' Home, Hampton, Va. (Illustrated.) 114

Patrick Henry. (Illustrated.) Robert L. Taylor 116

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INDEX TO VOLUME FIVE 131

Philosophical Points. Wm. J. Burtscher 29

Points of Historic Interest in Virginia. (Illustrated.) 358

Red Hill, the Last Residence of Patrick Henry. (Illustrated.) Samuel H. Miller. . 120

Richard Mansfield and His Art. (Illustrated.) Lillian Kendrick Bym. 157

Richmond Pearson Hobson on the Japanese Question 127

Scenes at Newport News, Va. (Illustrated.) * ' 378

Senator Tiixman and the Negro Question * 61

.Some Beautiful Southern Homes. (Illustrated.) 311

Some Beautiful Women of the South. (Portraits.) 132, 360, 667

"Soift of the Mountains." (Frontispiece.) 346

Son of the Mountains. Julian Bouchelle 404

Springfield and Robertson County, Tennessee.. (Illustrated.) W. O. Thomas 615

The American Boy. (Frontispiece.) 228

The American Eagle : How It Came into Existence, and the Number Thirteen.

Susie Gentry 415

The Basic Principles of the Negro Question. Van Leer Polk 693

The Hobson Idea. Lillian Kendrick Bym 656

The Human Voice. Carl Young 207

The Mocking Bird and the Poets. Albert V. Goodpasture 167

The New House. (Illustrated.) F. W. Fitzpatrick 247

The Oldest Church on the American Continent. (Illustrated.) George F. Paul.. 508

The Origin of the Stars and Stripes. (Illustrated.) Alec Bruce 352

The South and the Ship. William Wallace Bates 281

1 HE University of North Carolina. (Illustrated.) Aquila Craig Glenn 243

Theodore O'Hara. (Illustrated.) Kate Alma Orgain 267

Thomas Jefferson. ( Portrait.) Robert L. Taylor 35

Uncle Sam's Camels. (Illustrated.) Adrian Listina 301

Waco, Texas. (Illustrated.) 339

When and Where the Flag Was Christened "Old Glory." (Illustrated.)

Emma Look Scott * 354

WrrH Our Editors 90, 210, 316, 433, 592, 729

WrrH Our Readers '. loS, 221, 329, 439, 604, 733

Zachary Taylor. ( Illustrated.) Robert L. Taylor 640

FICTION

A Creedless Baptism. Jennie Thomas Buchanan 409

Anne : Her Diary. Kate Trimble Sharber , 70, 236, 546, 701

Bill Davis' Ascension. Hugh K. Aiken 183

Conquerors of the Wilderness. (Serial Story.) Anna Erwin Woods.. 176, 285, 563, 705

Cupid Interrupts. A. Maria Crawford 163

Doorways of Dunvegan. Thomwell Jacobs 87, 188

How Uncle Mose Plead Not Guilty. (Illustrated.) E. C. Sawyer 155

How Old Wash Captured a Buck : . . 405

How Old Wash Converted Phosphate Ike 573

Jim's Dairy Morals. Rosa Burwell Todd 39

Poisoned Salads. Will Levington Comfort 129

Sfraphtta's Dog Pose. Garnet Noel Wiley 19

The Auto Fool. Horatio Lankford King ' 395

The Business End of It. Montgomery F. Essig 491

The Girl and the Absent-Minded Man. Horatio Lankford King 682

The Girl of the Yellow Braided Dress. Robert Wilson Neal 372

The Lost Chord.. (Illustrated.) Medora Jones 255

The Measure of a Man. John Trotwood Moore 51

(Concluded from Volume IV.)

The Night Riders. (Serial Story.) Henry Cleveland Wood 556, 644

The Mystery of Milk Sic^ Mountain. John Trotwood Moore 629

The Singing Master. Julia Bonita Searson 580

The Smile of the Jade. Montgomery F. Essig 416

The Imitator. T. S. Stribling 192

Their Own Petard. Troy Allison 173

The Thraix of the Green. Thomas Sigismund Stribling 422

1 HE White Hour. Margaret C. Hobson 567

Uncle Abel and the Flood at Memphis. Berenice Feam Young 374

Uncle Abraham's Sermon : The Vision. John Marshall Kelly 6oi

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132 THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

VERSE

American Boy Hymn. Witt Bowdcn 266

A Northern Rose. John Trotwood Moore 324

Eastertide. Maic Williams Sperry 69

EsTELLA May. (Illustrated.) Cora A. Matson Dolson 185

Evening. Virginia Craig 576

For April's Coming. Hilton R. Greer 30

"Here." Ruth Raymond 115

J AiRUs' Daughter: An Easter Poem. (Illustrated.) John Trotwood Moore 44

June. Maie Williams Sperry 260

King Aldebrand. (Illustrated.) John Trotwood Moore 365

My Crown of Life. C. H. Buchanan 377

Old Glory. (Illustrated.) John Trotwood Moore 64

The I-over's Song. Nanita MacDonell 607

The Race of the Rebel. John Trotwood Moore 544

'Ihe Soul's Awakening. (Illustrated.) Ruth Bissell Ebright 81

The Wanderlust. John Niendorff 241

Wayi^id. Jake H. Harrison 172

Whay Say the Beeches ? John Trotwood Moore 627

When Summer Died. Helen T. Diclcinson 832

The Family Scrap Book no, 218, 333, 426, 610, 735

A Health. Edward Coate Pinckney 334

Clancy of the Overflow. Anonymous 220

Columbus. Joaquin Miller 427

Cupid As a Guest. Bourne's Translation from Anacreon 611

Ethel. Edwin W. Fuller 612

Evelyn Hope. Robert Browning 610

"If I Didn't Forget How Old I Wuz." Anonjrmous 112

In the Matter of Rest. Judge Bleckley 220

Israfel. Edgar Allen Foe 110

Little. Giffin of Tennessee. H. O. Tickner 426

Love. Christina Rossetti 612

My Ambition. Ellen Palmer Alberton 611

Ode to a Greoan Urn. John Keats , 428

O Captain, My Captain. Walt Whitman 333

Recollections of Love. S. T. Coleridge 112

Shall We Live Again ? Victor Hugo 427

"Sunset" Cox's Sunset Piece 219

The Ballot. John Pierpont 1 12

The Blue and the Gray. Francis Miles Finch 218

The Every-Day Darling. Anonymous 333

The Faithless Mountain Stream. Anonymous 334

The Humming Bird. Audubon 335

The Last Leaf. O. W. Holmes 219

The Moneyless Man. Henry T. Stanton 426

The Mystery of Cro-a-Tan, 1587 A. D. Margaret J. Preston no

The Violet. Walter Scott no

To Mary. Francis Fontaine 611

Truthful James. F. Bret Harte 610

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BUSINESS NOTICES

The Massachusetts Squab Co., Box 878,
Whitman, Mass., are offering bargains in
ngeons.

The True-Tagg Paint Co. are offering
he most durable floor paint on the market,
nade in nine beautiful colors. Any 10-
rear-old child can apply it

The Dixie Artificial Limb Co., whose
lisplay ad appears on another page, agree
to give an absolute guarantee to any one
fiho needs an artificial limb.

The Peck- Williamson Co., 366 W. Fifth
St., Qndnnati, Ohio, ask for an oppor-
tunity to prove to you that their Underfeed
Furnace saves one-half to two-thirds on
coal bills. In time of warmth prepare for
cold. Write them.

A new department, the School of Expres-
sion, has been added to Vanderbilt Uni-
versity. This is thought to be the only
established school of expression below
Mason and Dixon's line. The interest de-
veloped in it already warrants the belief
that its growth will be rapid under the
management of that great master, Prof.
Albert Mason Harris.

There is no better shoe for men on the
Southern market than the "Big 4 Line" put
o«t by the J. G. Hynds Shoe Manufactur-
ing Company, of Nashville. This company
has covered the Southern States with
hustling salesmen, and the demand in that
territory for this particular brand of foot-
gear is enormous. It has been said by
toany that "when once a Hynds shoe is
worn, no other will satisfy." We take
pleasure in calling your attention to this

company's advertisement on the page oppo-
site the Table of Contents.

The department store of OTarrall Bros.,
Hattiesburg, Mississippi, is the largest es-
tablishment of the kind in south Mississippi.
The firm has just added another floor to ac-
commodate their growing business. Cour-
teous dealing and enterprising business
methods have contributed to place them in
the van of the mercantile procession in this
section.

A CHANCE TO MAKE MONEY.

Having read of many lucky experiences
in Mexican mines, I visited Oaxaca to see
for myself. The richness of their mines
is certainly wonderful. The thousands of-
tons of rich ore, visible in so many mines,
will give any person the gold fever who
visits that district. I had no idea of invest-
ing when I visited Mexico, but I bought
3,000 shares in the Zavaleta and Soledad
mines, and have already been offered twice
what I paid for my stock. A friend who
invested $30 sold his stock in less than
three months for $150. Don't invest in a
prospect, even if the stock is cheap, unless
you expect to lose. Invest in a mine where
at least 5,000 feet of work has been done
and not less than 20,000 tons of ore sold
at a fair profit. In such a mine you are
sure to make money. For safe advice re-
garding Mexican mines address the Pitts-
burg-Oaxaca Mining Co., Block 712, Pitts-
burg, Pa. You can rely on their state-
ments and can make money quick and sure.

James Mack.

We call the reader's attention to the lib-
eral offer of Draughon's Business College
on the page opposite the frontispiece. This
is one of the most liberal offers ever made

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BUSINESS NOTICES

by any business college. If you are think-
ing of fitting yourself for a business ca-
reer, read their advertisement. There are
now thirty Draughon's Colleges in opera-
tion, Prof. Jno. F. Draughon, President of
Draughon's Practical Business College Co..
having recently returned from Washington,
D. C, where he purchased the Spencerian
Business College. Professor Draughon has
placed able men at the head of his Wash-
ington College, and it will be conducted on
the high plane occupied by all the other
Draughon Colleges.

The first ad in this issue is that of the
W. W. Ford Tobacco Works. It is printed
in three colors and is very attractive, but
does not rank in attractiveness to the of-
fer made therein to pipe smokers. The W.
W. Ford Tobacco Works is one of the best-
known firms of the kind in the United
States, and one that the tobacco trust has
not been able to lay its hands on. "Ford's
Twist" and "Old Confed Smbking To-
bicco" are two of the most famous brands
on the American market, and no other can
supplant them where once they have been
used. It is an independent concern, and
no other factory has been able to duplicate
the high-grade tobacco put out by it. The
W. W. Ford Tobacco Works has made it a
point to keep all its brands up to their origi-
nal high standard. Herein lies the secret
of its success. Users of this tobacco will
not give it up, for they have come to rely

on it, knowing there will be no change in its
grade.

THE ADVERTISER'S HANDY GUIDE,
VOLUME XVIII,

has just been issued by the Morse Inter-
national Agency, whose reputation in the
advertising field is world wide. It is a
standard work of reference, indispensable
to advertisers large and small, and as im-
portant to the buyer of space as a "price
current" is to a buyer of goods. If any
evidence were needed that this work has
permanently taken the lead in its class, it
will be found in the fact that the Morse
International Agency has received a vtry
large number of commendatory letters from
the leading advertisers both in the United
States and Europe.

Not the least of its important features
is its condensed form. It may be carried
with ease in the pocket, and as such com-
mends itself to every traveling salesman,
who contracts for advertising in the towns
along his route. It is thoroughly up-to-
date and in addition to the general list of
Daily and Weekly newspapers, are special
lists of class publications grouped under
the following heads: Magazines, Medical
Journals, Agricultural and Religious papers
and those in foreign languages.

It may be obtained from the publishers-
Morse International Agency, 19 West 34th
Street, New York, on receipt of the price,
$2.00.

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD
— ^MAGAZINE

VOL. VI

NOVEMBER. 1907

NO. 2

THE SANITARY CONQUEST OF THE

ISTHMUS

tific world. Those who visit the Isth-
mus of Panama to-day will be im-
pressed with the perfection of the sani-
tary organization, which was success-
fully designed to maintain such con-
ditions of wholesome living, that the
efficiency of the canal laborers would
be assured.

A casual glance at the Isthmus
will convince any one that every
element of nature conduces to vicious-
ness and disease. Approaching the
dty of Colon from the Atlantic,
Front street seems to be so near
the level of the ocean that no drainage
is possible, and then the swamps in

jt Cawcroft

the rear of the town were fragrant
with disease germs. It is in this con-
nection that it must be borne in mind
that there is an annual rainfall of four-
teen feet on the Isthmus, and the
average is produced by a torrential
down-pour during certain months of
the year. Vegetation is very thick and
the growth of recently destroyed
bushes excites the wonder of the tour-
ist. Added to the extent of the jun-
gle and the rainfall is the tendency of
the natives to neglect the ordinary
sanitary precautions and the common
essentials of health. When the Ameri-
can Government finally decided to con-
struct a canal across the Isthmus of
Panama, it was confronted with the
necessity of sewering the commtmities
along the entire strip, destroying the
tropical jungle, draining the swamps,
constructing reservoirs and doing the
thousand and one things which are
essential to the health of the modern-
ized city. It was necessary to accom-
plish these improvements in the short
space of four years and over a strip
of land forty-five miles in length with
a width of five miles. Sanitary juris-
diction over the cities of Colon and
Panama was given the Zone Depart-
ment by treaty arrangement, and the
officials undertook the task of sewer-
ing, paving and cleaning those pest-
ridden communities. Let those who
are content to remain in their homes

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136

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

amidst the mild climate of the North ;
let those who are given more to criti-
cism than to designing" of constructive
remedies, consider how difficult it has
been to create sufficient public spirit
to induce many of the smaller com-
munities of this country to install mod-
em sanitation; and then remember
that what has been so difficult of ac-
complishment in the former was neces-
sary in twelve or more communities
located along this fifty-mile strip. Thar
these things have been done, and suc-
cessfully done, amidst the retarding in-
fluence of natural ccmditions and the

of his Suez victory, that De Lesseps
landed at Colon prepared to master the
Isthmus situation from the standpoint
of the engineer and promoter. Unr
mindful of the fact that one dead man
is claimed for every tie placed on the
Panama Railroad, and despite the
knowledge that the sailors of the world
dreaded old Aspinwall as they would
the fires of hell, De Lesseps planned to
plunge into the tropical jungle with
the same vigor and disregard of de-
tails which had characterized his op-
erations in Southern Europe and the
East. He secured the native, accli-

BEFORE THE SANFTARY CONQUEST

degeneracy of the native population,
doubles the honor that should be ac-
corded to the men who initiated this
achievement.

The French neglected these sanitary
essentials in coming to the Isthmus,
and their tragic record was written in
blood within a few years. History
records, as the manipulated newspa-
pers of that day failed to report, that
three hundred thousand Egyptians
perished under De Lesseps during the
construction of the Suez Canal. It was
with the same wanton willingness to
sacrifice human life in order to achieve
his engineering ends and in the flush

mated black man from Jamaica and
other islands of the West Indies; he
brought Chinese over by the ship load,
and in Southern Spain and Italy he
found laborers willing to go on an ad-
venture, ready to undertake the work
of canal digging under the keen di-
rection of the best engineers of the
Continent. But with all his engineer-
ing organization and because of his
neglect of sanitation, De Lesseps
failed. Poor food, bad water, hun-
dred-year-old swamps, lack of sew-
ers, the vicious, imcaught mos-
quito, yellow jack and small-pox, com-
bined to discourage or kill large num-

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THE SANITARY CONQUEST OF THE ISTHMUS 137

bers, and at the same time tended to
render ineflScient those who managed
to survive. Then it was that a regi-
ment of the stolid Chinese marched
from Matachin to the Chagjes River
banks, there to find suicides' graven;
here it was that the Jamaica laborer
was so abused or allowed to perish that
the protecting arm of the Colonial
Government will not allow the Ameri-
can Commission to have such labor
unless a deposit is made to assure the
immediate return of the men when so
desired or when deemed advisable.
These were the natural and artificial
conditions that American physicians
were compelled to master — ^those were
thr necessary achievements, while the
natives, discouraged and abused by the
previous French contractors, prophe-
sied that the Yankee efforts were hope-
less, and then did their part to make
such endeavors futile, by their lethargy
and inefficiency.

The visitor to the Isthmus of Pana-
ma is impressed with the extent of the
American sanitary jurisdiction at the
outset. There are many arriving at
Colon who believe that their vaccina-
tion wound is sufficiently recent to re-
lieve them of the operation ; but what-
ever we may think of the theory or
results of vaccination, it must be ad-
mitted that the Isthmian sanitary of-
ficials are impartial in their adminis-
tration of cow-pox. There are no
favorites in the administration of the
Sanitary Department of the Isthmian,
Commission and Congressmen as well
as steam-shovel men are accorded the
same treatment in the name of the gen-
eral welfare. The vaccination occurs
before the passenger is allowed to
place his baggage before the custom
officers on the Colon docks for exami-
nation, and care is taken to see that
the wound is dry before the incomer
is allowed to unroll his sleeve. Arriv-
ing on the docks, he finds a boy dis-
tributing leaflets in several languages,
signed by Dr. Gorgas and containing
the following wholesome advice:

"This circular is handed to each new
arrival on the Isthmus for the purpose
of instruction as to how to avoid the

disease most prevalent in Panama and
the Canal Zone — malaria. Its cause is
now well known and each one, with
a little care, can do a great deal to-
ward keeping free from this disease.

"It has been proven that malaria is
only given to man by the bite of a fe-
male mosquito of a certain species
(Anapholes). This female mosquito
must always bite some human being
suffering from malaria before she can
become infected. In biting, she draws
blood from the person suffering from
malaria and in the blood thus drawn,
she takes in the malarial parasite.
Within a few days this parasite in-
fects the mosquito herself, and when
she next bites a well person she in-
jects her spittle into the bitten place.
In this spittle the malarial parasite is
injected and thus the healthy person
contracts the disease.

"Now, if every one would use the
mosquito bar, so arranged that no mos-
quitoes would get into the bar at night,,
much protection would be secured
from this disease; for, while it may
be contracted during the day time, it
is not likely to be. Probably nine-
tenths of the malarial cases contract
the disease during sleep, because the
malarial mosquito is a night biter and
the person is quiet at this time.

"Absolute protection from mosquito
bites is impossible; but it is known
that quinine is a deadly poison to the
malarial parasite after it gets into the
blood of a human being. If, there-
fore, every one would take three grains
of quinine, once a day, any malarial
parasite that has been introduced dur-
ing the day would almost certainly be
killed. The best time probably to take
quinine is before going to bed at
night."

The secondary problem presented to
those who desired to organize the ex-
isting force of thirty-five thousand men
into an army of efficient canal builders
was the construction of a chain of new
communities across the Isthmus.
Throughout the interior of the Isth-
mus, the native villages huddle along
the banks of the disease-giving
Chagres River; and a glance at the

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138

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

straw huts comprising those settle-
ments, having no means of drainage
but the natural sluice ways of the
streets of dirt, was sufficient to con-
vince the inspectors that a white man
from the North could not remain
healthy in such an environment. There
was but one thing to do, then, and that
was to create a series of new towns on
the higher ground of the interior. As
a matter of course, the town sites must
be adjacent to the pivotal points of
canal construction; and in conse-
quence, from Bas Obispo through
Empire and Culebra to Paraiso, the

man is entitled to one square foot of
bed room for every gold dollar he
receives as wages during a month. In
addition, the Commission encourages
domesticity by furnishing a house for
the married man who brings his fami-
ly to the Isthmus, together with fire-
wood, ice and light at cost. Every
family house is thoroughly screened,
provided with netting for the beds, and
a force of inspectors is employed to
discover and repair any breaks in the
wire screening. Both the apartments
and married quarters are provided with
adequate shower baths in order to ena-

TYPICAL PANAMA TOWN TO-DAY

surrounding hills above the cuts have
been made the camping grounds of
the army of white canal employees.
The observer notices at these and other
centers where the work is under way,
the typical square-constructed houses
with double storied verandas. These
verandas are completely screened, and
they serve the double purpose of pro-
viding a covered, cool sitting-room for
the canal employees after working
hours and tend to protect the walls
of the sleeping rooms from the ex-
treme heat of the tropical day. Apart-
ments are provided for the unmarried
men and in theory at least every white

ble everyone to comply with the gen-
eral instruction to bathe and make a
change of clothing at sundown.

Those unon whom the responsibility
was placed of upbuilding the physical
stamina of the canal diggers realized
at once that -good air and water, whole-
some apartments and food, must be
made the foundation of health. They
appreciated the fact that as these
things aided in the maintenance of
vigorous constitutions they were more
to be desired than the preventive
means involving the use of quinine and
cow-pox. Prior to the commencement
of engineering operations, it was

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THE SANITARY CONQUEST OF THE ISTHMUS 139

necessary to feed the white employees
in mess-houses, after the manner of
the culinary methods employed on
Western railroad cuts ; and experience
having demonstrated that such is the
only possible system, even conceding
the many faults, it has been continued
during tiie succeeding years. Having
solved the problem of water, housing
and sanitation, the responsible oflScers
have experienced more difficulty in
handling the food problem than any
other feature of canal life. While
there are those who urge particular
systems of diet for the men of the

throughout the Canal Zone regarding
food than as to any other condition,
the defects must be credited more to
the inefficiency of alleged cooks, than
to a continued lack in the quantity or
quality of the supplies. It appears that
the Commission realizes" the nature of
this complaint, and a vigorous effort
is being made to eliminate this last ob-
jection to the prevalence of wholesome
living on the Isthmus. Whites and
blacks are, of course, provided for in
separate mess-houses ; and it has been
deemed wise, if not in fact necessary,
to attempt, in so far as possible, to pro-

THE HOUSES HAVE DOUBLE- STORIED VERANDAS WHICH ARE COMPLETELY SCREENED

colder North sojourning in the Trop-
ics, it has been found that the meat and
vegetables commonly fotmd on the ta-
bles of the United States are the only
articles of diet which afford satisfac-
tion to the men. Food is shipped in
large quantities from this country to
the Isthmus; and the Government
plans to place a wholesome meal be-
fore the men at the bare cost of pur-
chasing the food at wholesale prices,
which is estimated at thirty cents a
meal. The menu is similar to that fur-
ni^ed in the middle class hotels of
the cities of the United States; and
while there are more complaints heard

vide each nationality or class of canal
laborers with food similar to that used
at home. It. is safe to say that a larger
quantity of food is allowed each for-
eigner than he has been accustomed to
at home, and that makes for increased
vigor in the workers. The Jamaica
negroes were allowed for a considera-
ble time to prepare their own foods;
but the black men from the outskirts
of Kingston were so bent upon sav-
ing every piece of silver for the rainy
day when they must return to the
small wages of their home, and at the
expense of their stomachs, that disease
was increasing, and whatever efficiency

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140

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

they possessed was becoming impaired.
The Government was forced to reme-
dy this situation by insisting that every
laborer must mess at the Commission
houses ; to that end the food is similar,
in so far as possible, to that enjoyed
by the particular laborers in their home
countries ; and for supplying and pre-
paring the food the Jamaica laborers
are charged ten cents a meal. Since
the inauguration of this government
mess, the tendency to the Jamaica ne-
groes to become ill because of inade-
quate nourishment, or perish in the
wake of diseases of a weakened con-

rate of forty cents a day, will be of in-
terest :

Breakfast : ham, one- fourth pound ;
bread, one-half pound; potatoes, one-
half pound; coffee.

Dinner: soup; fresh meat, one-half
pound; garbanzas (peas), one-fourth
pound ; beans, one- fourth pound ; po-
tatoes, one-half pound ; macaroni, one-
twelfth pound ; bread, one-half pound ;
tea.

Supper : soup ; stewed beef, one-half
pound ; garbanzas, one-fourth pound :
potatoes, one-half pound; rice and
beans ; dessert ; bread, one-half pound ;

IN tHE HOSPITAL

stitution, has markedly decreased and
the efficiency of the black men as canal
diggers has been increased.

Those who have seen the Jamaican
mammies on their native heath pre-
paring the family meal in an open
urn may imagine with what relish the
canal diggers from that island attack
a home-like menu of fried fish and
yams and hominy and coffee.

A large force of Gallegos from
Spain is now employed on the Isth-
mus ; and as those men have the repu-
tation of being hearty eaters and vigor-
ous workers, the distinctive meals
which the Commission provides at the

coffee. The dessert consists of prunes,
apple sauce or other stewed fruit, and
the meals are prepared by Gallego
cooks.

The experience of the sanitary offi-
cials in the conduct of affairs on the
Isthmus demonstrates that the intelli-
gent attention given to health by the
Northern white man is a better protec-
tion to his constitution than is afforded
to that of the black man through natu-
ral acclimation. Conditions have thus
become so relatively wholesome on the
Isthmus that a high-waged American
is warranted in taking his family with
him to Panama. When the mechanics

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Ttt£ SANlTAftY CONQUEST OF THE ISTHMUS 14 »

and steam-shovel men have their wives
to cook the food and care for the
household, many of the problems now
confronting- the canal officials will be
solved. It has been found that men
who have their 'own households are
far more inunune from tropical dis-
eases and vexations; and it is a fact
that the American schoolboys and
girls who are living on thd Isthmus
with their parents are healthier than
the children of colored parents. Un-
like the black man, the white man
takes his daily shower after his day's
work is completed ; he does not punc-
ture holes in the screens provided to
prevent the ravages of the mosquito;
and his intelligent attention to physi-
cal well-being assures for himself and
family greater freedom from tropical
diseases than nature extends to the
tainted natives. What may be the ul-
timate eflFect even upon vigorous con-
stitutions from continued work in the
tropics is a matter for consideration
elsewhere; but certainly, in view of
the fact that the stringent examina-
tions permit no one but exceptionally
strong workers to depart for the Canal
Zone, the r-esults visible within the
decade following the return of the
army of canal diggers will settle this
disputed question for all time.

The wisdctfn of this theory that the
control of the sanitation, housing and
feeding of the canal employees was
necessary to their healthy efficiency, is
proved by the statistical results. The
department has used diplomacy or
force, as each may have been neces-
sary, to fumigate, cleanse and render
habitable the Isthmus. And to-day,
what are the visible results? There
has not been a case of yellow fever on
the Isthmus in fifteen months, despite
the fact that every day ships arrive at
Colon and La Boca from the infected
ports of South America. There are
thirty-five thousand men employed in
the construction of the canal and col-

lateral undertakings. Out of that num-
ber fifty-five hundred may be listed as
American whites. There were two
deaths from small-pox during the past
year ; and out of the 1,105 deaths dur-
ing the year, 431 were due to pneu-
monia — Si large majority of those were
negroes, who after working during the
hot days, sit in the open air during the
moist, cool evenings, without chang-
ing their damp underclothing, as in-
structed. The remaining deaths were
caused by diseases common to any
average body of men and the cases
were not proportionately excessive in
number. Month after month there
has been a remarkable decline in the
American death rate, and despite their
failure to take personal precautions,
the more wholesome environment has
lessened the danger to the blacks.
Thus during the month of May only
four American whites died out of the
5,481 employed, which would afford an
average death rate of about ten per
thousand. To the several excellent
hospitals which have been located on
the Isthmus there were only twenty-
one to each thousand admitted as sick
during May. During the same period
the negro mortality was twice that of
the whites in general and four times
that per thousand American whites in
particular. The negro mortality ranges
between forty and fifty per thousand
employed. A comparison of these fig-
ures simply leads to the conclusion
that the intelligence and natural con-
stitution of the American white assure
his ultimate recognition as the most ef-
ficient type of canal builder. The exist-
ence of a large body of American
whites, capable of competing with all
other races in the Tropics from the
standpoint of healthy efficiency, is a
condition that renders possible politi-
cal consequences not within the scope
of discussion in a publication of this
nature.

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HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE

SOUTH

CHAPTER XXVI

THE CAPTURE OF FEDERAL GUNBOATS AT JOHN-
SONVILLE BY FORREST'S CAVALRY

By John Trotwood Moore

The Tennessee river is a very pic- giving an old-fashioned barbecue, that
turesque stream at Johnsonville. It is I went for material for this story,
a beautiful stream always. Just across It was here in this section some fif-
the river from Johnsonville is the vil- teen miles down the river, that For-
lage of Eva, and it was to this place, rest's Cavalry captured, late in Octo-
where the citizens of the county were ber, 1864, the Federal transport Ma-

seppa, heavily laden
with stores and towing
two rich barges, and on
the next day, October
30th, captured the
transport Venus, tow-
ing two barges, and
convoyed by a g^boat.
Later in the day the
steamer Cheesetnan,
richly laden, was also
captured.

And at Johnsonville,
November 3d, 1864,
Morton's Battery of
Forrest's Cavalry, com-
ing suddenly on the
east bank of the river
opposite the town, un-
der the command of
Captain John W.
Morton, utterly de-
stroyed, according to
Forrest's official re-
port for the entire raid,
the following :

Says Forrest: "The
roads were almost im-
passable, and the march
to Corinth was slow
and toilsome, but we

THE RIVER AT JOHNSONVILLE TCachcd thCTC OU No-

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HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE SOUTH

143

vember loth, after an absence of over
two weeks, during which time I cap-
tured and destroyed four gunboats,
fourteen transports, twenty barges,
twenty-six pieces of artillery and $6,-
700,000 worth of property and cap-
tured one hundred and fifty prisoners.
General Buford, after supplying his
own command, turned over to my
chief quartermaster about nine thou-
sand pairs of shoes and one thousand
blankets. My loss dur-
ing the entire trip was
two killed and nine
wounded/*

Later estimates
placed the property de-
stroyed at about $3,- .
000,000.

This sounds like
Jackson in the valley
after Banks. Forrest
is the only other ge-
nius brought out by the
war whose fighting re-
calls that of the "Pray-
ing Elder;" and Lord
Wolseley is on record
that these two were
the two great geniuses
of the war.

It was Morton's Bat-
tery which destroyed
the vast amount of
stores in front of John-
sonville on November
30th, 1864, and it was
in his company that I
journeyed to the scenes
of that daring raid
forty-three years after-
ward. A b^rdless boy
then, he is now Sec-
retary of State of Tennessee, and this
was his first visit there since that stir-
ring November afternoon. It is rare
that a maker of history should visit a
batterfield nearly half a century after-
wards. It is rare that a writer of his-
tory is able to get it at first hand from
the actual maker — a writer who at that
time was also "in arms,'* but they were
dusky and ebon, the kindly fort of
which, the writer remembers very dis-
tinctly, was adom^ by a re<} 5|n<}

spotted cotton bandanna and the faith-
ful face above was known as "mam-
my." Before the war was over, the
writer was old enough to take notice
and to remember distinctly hearing the
above-mentioned mammy say one day :
"Yes, chile, we sho' is whuppin' 'em fas'.
One uv ouah men killed ten uv 'em de
udder day wid one ball, all in a line."
This made a lasting impression on
the writer as a most satisfactory way

THE OLD ROAD ON THE RIVER BANK OPPOSFTE JOHNSONVILLE

DOWN WHICH Morton's battery operated

of getting rid of one's enemies, also
as a plan of his own which he intended
to carry out when he went to war.

The actual capture of the gunboats
by cavalry occurred before the de-
struction of Johnsonviile, and was
made effective by Forrest's moving
with his usual swiftness and setting
his trap on the river bank before the
Federals knew it. The trap consisted
of BelFs Tennesseans and one section
of Morton*? Battery being placecj on

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

the river bank at Paris Landing, the
guns extending a mile or so up and
down the river ; and five miles below,
at Fort Heiman, with General Bu-
ford, with his division and two twen-
ty-pound Parrotts guarding that point.
Into this trap slipped, on the morn-
ing of October 29, the Maseppa, rich-
ly laden, and with two transports.

POSITION OF SECOND BATTERY, MORTON S GUNS
RIVER ON THE RIGHT

Captain Morton tells a charactertstio anecdote of General
ForreHt'H orders to him on this spot The general sat on hin
horse watching the effect of Morton's gnns. He thought
they were shooUng too high, and exclaimed: "ElevaU her
a little lower, John ! Bleyate her a lltUe lower I"

The lower batteries, masked, let her
in, and when well in the trap she was
shot up like a tomato can pitched
into the air before Captain Andy
Meadows. Her crew deserted her, all
but her gallant captain. Private West,
stripped, swam out with his pistol
bucked around -his neck and took her.
The next day the transport Venus,

towing two barges and convoyed by
the gunboat Undine, ran into the trap,
all of which, after a desperate fight,
were captured. The Venus was de-
fended by a detachment of infantry
and was captured by Colonel D. C.
Kelley, now a distinguished minister of
the Methodist Church, South.
Forrest now had horse marines, and
Colonel W. A. Daw-
son, hoisting a com-
mander's flag on the
Undine and Captain
Gracey hoisting anoth-
er on the Venus, these
daring land - lobsters
started up the river, the
.first lot of cavalrymen
that ever attempted to
run gunboats.

"Now, General,'*
said Dawson to his su-
perior, "I will go with
these gunboats wher-
ever you order, but I
want to tell you now
I know nothing about
them, and I want you
to promise me now that
if I lose your fleet and
come in afoot, you will
not curse me out about
it."

Forrest laughed and
told him to go ahead,
and if he couldn't hold
his water dogs, to run
their noses into the
mud, fire them and
leave.

This happened to
Gracey and the Venus
the first time they met
a Yankee gunboat
whose crew knew how
to handle her ; and the
Undine, after a gallant fight, met the
same fate the next day.

It was all thrilling while it lasted,
and it is the record in the history of
war. Forrest was far-sighted and
fought more bloodless battles by his
head than his arm, terrible as he
was in a hand-to-hand fight. Witness
his raid into Memphis, destroying

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HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE SOUTH 145

Sherman's base of supplies and fetch- three years have passed, and Morton
ing that general back from the Mis- himself would not know where his
sissippi as eflFectually as if he had met eight guns had stood and fought a fort
and defeated him in pitched battle, of seventy guns and an army of sol-
Witness now the Johnsonville affair, diers and gunboats to a finish, had not
It is bloodless victory that marks the a citizen, Mr. J. F. McKelty, who had
great general. always lived there, and who remem-

The Federals held the state of Ten- bered so well the memorable day,
nessee and as far as Decatur, Alabama, shown us the spot.
Hood turned and began his raid into The field is now in com, but for a
Tennessee. Forrest saw
at once there would be
a great concentration
of Federal forces at
Nashville, threatening
Memphis and West
Tennessee. He asked
permission to remain
in West Tennessee,and
at the proper moment
he struck and de-
stroyed their base. In
effect it was the same
as if Morton's Battery,
when it slipped up on
the banks of the Ten-
nessee river at John-
sonville and destroyed
three million dollars'
worth of supplies for
the Federals, had
whipped them as if met
in brittle array. It was
far better generalship
than Franklin and
Nashville. It was ^ead
of Atlanta. It sur-
passed Bragg in Ken-
tucky, because it did
things. It took food
from men who must
eat before they could position of upper guns, morton's battery

march, and ammuni- captain Morton standing where his guns bombarded the fort

tion from cannon that

must have powder before they could mile down the river bank we drove,

fire, and blankets from backs that marking the spots. The whole scene

could not march naked. And nobody was pictured. Yonder was the fort,

was killed, and the Federal wheel of high above the town, equipped with

war stopped for a while, and time seventy guns. But luck favored For-

meant much to Hood, had he been born rest, for the hill on which the fort was

with sense enough to know it. situated was so high that the guns

Waiting his opportunity then, For- could not be depressed enough to reach

rest strudfe Down by the river he fol- the river batteries just across the river

lowed the road he made through the and right under them. Like a hound

cane and timber as he came in. Forty- who gets to the flank of a buck,

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146

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

Morton was safe both from horn
and hoof.

The gunboats and supplies lay out
in the water in front of them. Now,
either of the gunboats could have
swept the bold Rebels from the river
bank, but here luck again (or who says
it was not brains?) came to Morton's
Battery. The banks of the river were
too high and the gunboats shot over
them. Two of the gunboats seeing
this, started up the river to enfilade,
but the upper Rebel battery on the
bank there pumped it into them so
steadily that they turned back, and
then occurred the
remarkable scene
of a battery of
g^ns in pistol shot
of a big fort and
gunboats, in a
curve of perfect
safety, absolutely
immune from
shell above or
gtmboat below
and deliberately
destroying them
and the millions
of dollars of sup-
plies they were
guarding. It
worked like the
woi kings of some
incarnate P r o s-
p e r o, death-im-
mune. Morton cut
his shells for fire.
In a little while
flames burst from
one of the gunboats, and the gallant
gunners in it jumped for the river. It
drifted to the steamers, firing them. A
hot shell, aimed at bales of hay, soon
had them in flame. Then the ware-
houses were riddled, and a blue flame
leaped to the sky, and a streak of devil-
ish fire ran to the river.

It was several hundred barrels of
whisky, and one shell from Morton's
Battery made the Yankee army dry
for a month and for the first time in
its history, Nashville, Tennessee, was
on the water wagon.

yiay th§t time 9ome again soon,

TWO OF THE PRESENT-DAY CITIZENS OF
JOHNSONVILLE

Still.

even if it takes Morton's Battery to
doit!

The flames lit up the country for
miles. The futile guns in the fort
rained harmlessly, tilie burning boats
floated around with bursting flames
from ignited powder boxes, and three
million dollars' worth of property and
supplies went up in smoke. No won-
der Sherman wrote Grant, Novem-
ber 6th: **That devil, Forrest, went
down about JohnsonvUle, making
havoc among the gunboats and trans-
ports/'
And Forrest, grinning like Me-
phisto, and waving
his fiery forked
tail, pulled away,
unharmed, swing-
ing around the Fed-
eral right, and led
Hood away into
Tennessee. And if
he and not Hood
had been in com-
mand of that fiery
army of ragged pa-
triots who could go
up against the
breastworks of
Franklin through
death with a zeal
that swept up the
gates of Nashville,
Nashville would
have fallen.

All's well that
ends well. We can
all see it now, but
God saw it then,
it is good to tell these things.

that the unborn may know whom
to imitate and honor when they
would fight again for their coun-
try.

And the next time they will fight
yellow-and-brown and not white.

[The following very interesting article is
from the pen of Rev. Dr. D. C Kclley, the
"fighting parson" of Forrest's Cavalry, and
who took the initiative in the capture of the
first of the Federal gunboats. It was writ-
ten at the request of the editors of Tay-
lor-Trotwood, and is a most interesting ac-
count of this famous capture. — EDnoits

T A YIjOR-TROT WOOD. )

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HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF THE SOUTH

The writer has not deemed it incum-
bent on him heretofore to do more than
furnish facts and incidents when called
for in regard to General N. B. For-
rest, believing that Tennessee would
at last learn through the reports of the
men who followed him in the war, the
unmatched character of her own citi-
zen.

Jordan and Pryor's "Life of For-
rest" gives the following account of
the attack on the Federal gunboats at
Paris Landing, no forces on the part
of the Confederates present except
cavalry and light artillery:

"Just before the arrival of General
Chalmers, Captain Morton had come up
with orders from General Buford to trans-
fer the section of his battery there to the
immediate vicinity of the gunboat, and re-
commence the attack. Informed of this
fact and the situation of affairs, Chalmers,
after consultation with Colonel Bell, direct-
ed that officer to move his artillery as near
as possible to the Undine and Venus, and
drive them from their shelter. Some se-
rious difficulties, however, being reported
to be in the way of transporting the ar-
tillery to the proper point. Colonel Rucker
made a personal reconnoissance and find-
ing the movement to be practicable, was
then ordered to take the section of Wal-
ton's Battery (two ten-pounder Parrott
gims), supported by the old Forrest Regi-
ment (Kelley) and the Fifteenth Tennes-
see Cavalry (Logwood) and attack as
quickly as possible. Dismounting, and tak-
ing a position under cover of the bushes,
below the gunboat, (Colonel Kelley, opening
a rapid fire both upon the yenus and at tjxt
port-holes of the Undine with his rifles, at-
tracted the attention of the enemy, while the
artillery under Sergeant Crozier, was moved
up by hand into a favorable position, from
which a vigorous fire was promptly opened
and maintained with such precision that
the enemy, unable to make head with their
armament- eight twenty-four-pounder How-
itzers — ^after a vain but spirited endeavor
to do so, was driven to the opposite shore.
One shot striking the bow, passed through
from stem to stem, and she had been forced
to dose her port-holes from the effect of
sharp-shooters. Her officers and men not
killed or wounded then escaped to the
short. Meanwhile the Venus had been sur-
rendered to (Colonel Kelley, who, going on
board with two companies, took possession
of the Undine, raised steam, and carried
both gunboat and transport to the Paris
Landing."

This account needs emendation for
the sake of accuracy.

The Venus was in sight, at full
speed, as Kelley threw his sharp-shoot-
ers, dismounted, into the wood along
the river bank; the Confederate ar-
tillery was fortunately in action above
him, his sharp-shooters, pouring their
accurate fire into the flying boat, saw
a white handkerchief suddenly float
out from the steamer's deck, and heard
the command, "Cease firing," frcmi
their own conimander. The boat,
which now tume'd to the bank, crushed
into the Underwood, a stage plank
thrown out, an oflScer on it asking loud-
ly for the "Commander of the Sharp-
shooters," adding, "I could have
passed the cannon, but the d — d sharp-
shooters have killed all my men. I
want to surrender to the conunander
of the sharp-shooters," at the same
time holding out his pistol to the Con-
federate commander. A minute later
a command came from Forrest, as he
rode on the field : "Tell Kelley to bring
me the gunboat from the opposite side
of the river." Fifty men were selected
to man the captured boat — the Federal
engineer, fireman and pilot ordered to
their respective places. A Confed-
erate officer, with loaded pistol in hand,
stood at the engine, and the comman-
der of the Confederate regiment at the
pilot house, while the crossing of the
river was effected. Every moment a
broadside from the f/ndtW was expect-
ed. It was a wonderful relief when
she was reached to find that her prow
had been run into the bank upon land-
ing, and her crew had deserted her.
The difficulty, therefore, was to fasten
her own hawser to us and after mul-
tiplied efforts pull her off the bank, so
as to cross the river to where General
Forrest awaited our "coming." As we
were later on in this expedition
standing on the river bank above the
railroad brigade at Johnsonville, For-
rest rode up and said: "Kelley, you
see those two steamers on the oppo-
site bank standing out well into the
stream ? Can't you do for them what
you did the other day for the steamers
at Paris Landing?"

The reply was, "I have no boat in
which to cross the river to get at them, "

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148 THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

Forrest answered, "Send out to the the steamers on the opposite bank

homes of the citizens and get tools to were aflame, and the wind wafted to

make a raft, and bring me one of those half-starved Confederates delicious

boats over there." A detachment was odors from burning stores,
sent for the tools, but ere it returned D. C Kelley.

Note.— ** The Capture of the Federal Gunboats at Johnsonvill** " completes the
*• Historic Highways of the South," as orig-inally contemplated. The mass of inter-
esting- material found by Mr. Moore durin^^ his research has tempted him to plan a
number of additional visits to places of historic interest, accounts of which wiU ap-
pear intermittently.

SHEEP BELLS

A memory, wafted o'er a city wall,
Upon my heart fell soft as thistle-down ;
And once again there came the vesper's call

From grasses brown.
And hidden sheep bells from the hillside flow

In tinklings low.

Long, long I sat beneath the hill to hear
Each sweetly vibrant pause, the sudden chime,
The broken cadences of far or near.

The silvery rhyme — '
As tho' the dreams of music from each bell

In dewdrops fell.

• a

The sun went down, but still its beams made fair
With golden light the cloud-flecked upper sky —
And in the silence of the beauty there

Still trembled by
At intervals, that melody of a day

Too bright to stay.

Ah me ! not here, but there, my heart,
Within the wide, wide fields 'twere best to be.
Of all within these walls thou hast no part —

Thine to be free!
To hear the tinkling sheep bells on the hill

When all is still. Ingram Crockett

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INDUSTRIAL EDUCATION IN THE

SOUTH

THE JUVENILE STATE ASSOCIATION

By Reverend Crawford Jackson

HBOUT five years ago, while
editing a Christian journal in
Atlanta and on my way to my
office, I met a bright-looking lad
in the hands of a policeman, to whom
I put some questions concerning the
boy's parents and general condition. I
found out that his mother was dead,
had died indeed when he was a baby,
that his father was "no good," and that
the boy had himself been put twenty
times in jail and a dozen times in the
stockade, sometimes for thirty days at
a time. I talked with the boy that af-
ternoon in prison, but made absolutely
no impression on him.

I was more than ever impressed with
the need of a means whereby boys
could be turned from the wrong before
association with hardened criminals
had blunted their sensibilities. I made
a visit to the Police Court the next
morning and urged the judge to place
the boy in my care instead of in the
stockade. To my surprise, the lad sec-
onded my request, and we left the court
room in complete understanding and
confidence.

This boy has turned my life around.
After a few days he told me that his
little brother was in jail and in get-
ting him out I heard of another, then
another, and before I was aware of it
God had thrust me into this great work.

Speaking generally, the criminal is
the one individual in our midst for
whom the very least provision is made
looking to bis salvation and future use-

fulness ; and of all men he is the one
most in need of such provision, both
for his own and for society's sake. But
instead of his receiving the needed help,
in most instances the very steps are
taken which conduce to his greater
criminality. Then can it not be rightly
asked and answered. Is not crime on
the increase, at least in part, because
of our unwise methods in dealing with
the criminal himself? To be a little
more pointed, have we not been train-
ing our wayward and neglected chil-
dren into criminals by putting them in
a criminal atmosphere, and then fool-
ishly asked the question, "Why is
crime on the increase ?"

To find a number of children sick
because of some deadly germs in their
system, and place them where more
such germs would be received, and
then ask why they were, when turned
loose, spreading contagion and death
in our midst — such a course would en-
title such a man to a place in an in-
stitution for lunatics or criminals. And
yet that is exactly what we have been
doing.

Our first efforts to remedy these
conditions were put forth for the es-
tablishment of a Juvenile Court in At-
lanta. A number of citizens became
interested in the movement and worked
faithfully for the establishment of this
child-saving institution. Relieved of
the work with individual juvenile of-
fenders, I was able to turn my atten-
ticm to the letters which had poured in

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iS^

THE TAYLOR. TftOtWOOD MAGAZINE

from all parts of the state, asking for
help in extending the movement to oth-
er cities. The work continued to grow,
and an active campaign for a State
• Reformatory was inaugurated. A good
part of two years was spent in this
campaign from the pulpit, platform,
and press ; a"»d during the summer of
the second year the legislature passed
the bill creating
this institution —
but alas I it was
placed on one side
of the State Prison
Farm, near Mill-
edgeville. Besides,
for a child sixteen
years and under to
get into this insti-
tution he must
commit a crime
and be committed-
by the courts.

A number of
pitiful appeals kept ,^
coming to me,
from Georgia and
all over the South,
from parents,
guardians, from
friends of such
children, and some-
times from judges
themselves, asking
what could be done
with this or that
wayward child, for
whom no local pro-
vision had been
made.

The next logical
step was to call an
interstate confer-
ence, which met in
Washington, Dis-
trict of Columbia, a little over a year
ago to consider the needs of these
chanceless children all over the South.
Delegates were sent from the various
states, and the whole subject was care-
fully considered. President Roosevelt
addressed the convention, in part as
follows :

"... The chance of success lies with
the boy and not with the man. That

applies peculiarly to those boys who
tend to drift off into courses which
mean that unless they are checked they
will be formidable additions to the
criminal population when they grow
older. It is eminently worth while to
try to prevent those boys becoming
criminals, to try to prevent their be-
ing menaces to and expenses and scares
to society, while
there is a chance of
reforming them."
It was decided
to promote the
work in a three-
fold form. First,
advocating and as-
sisting to institute
Juvenile Courts
and the probation
system in the
larger cities of the
South ; second,
promoting state
legislation ; and
third, creating a
Juvenile State, for
the educational, in-
dustrial, moral,
and civic training
of wayward or
neglected children,
to be founded and
maintained by all
of the Southern
states.

The plan of
government of the
Juvenile State will
include the election
of officers by the
boys, as is done in

REVEREND MR. JACKSON AND THE BOY WHOSE ^J^^ GeOrCe Tunior
RESCUE LED TO THE FOUNDING t% uI*^ — iil. *.!.

OF THE WORK KepubUc, With the

exception that here
the government will be a replica of
state and not national government
This will beget in the boys a knowl-
edge of the workings of the law and
the citizen's responsibility for its pres-
ervation, as well as incite in them an
ambition to so excel as to reach posi-
tions of trust and responsibility. It
will be, in short, an education in prac-
tical citizenship, and we want end

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INDUSTRIAL EDUCATION IN THE SOUTH

151

mean to have such an institution as
any father would be glad to send his
boy to, for this purpose, as well as to
get him delivered from the manifold
temptations of city life.

Schooling and training in all the
useful trades will be provided, and the
institution can easily be made to pro-
duce most of its supplies and be self-
supporting on its surplus products.

A splendid start has beai made, in
the donation of four hundred and
twenty-six acres of valuable land in
the state of Georgia, near the Ten-
nessee line; and an endowment fund
is being raised by contributions from
interested persons all over the coun-
try, the sums ranging frcwn one dol-
lar to thousands. Our treasurer is
Judge W. R. Hammond, a gentleman
of high Christian character, who has
his oflBce with me in the Century
Building, Atlanta.

It will be seen that this work is dif-
ferent f rcrni that of the Reformatories.
It is our aim to turn into right paths
and useful pursuits boys who, while
neglected or untrained, are not yet
criminals; and by removing them
from vicious associations, instill into
them a knowledge of and a desire for
upright citizenship.

I may add here that the boy whose
rescue led to the founding of the
work is now holding a responsible po-
sition in a large firm, and it would
be hard to find a brighter, happier,
more ambitious young man.

We have been successful in estab-
lishing Juvenile Courts in many of our
leading cities, and if this interest con-
tinues and the various state legisla-
tures will appropriate funds for the
maintenance of boys sent from their
states, we shall soon have the work
thoroughly under way. We have
every reason to be hopeful for the
early fruition of these plans; for we

receive every day practical proofs of
the interest of thoughtful people.

Look at the printed words of wis-
dom and life and love on the beautiful
pages of the Bible. Some one might
ask, "What are these beautiful white
pages and whence came they?" And
the reply would come back, "These
were once the waste papers and the
cast-off rags of the street, but which
were taken by hands of skill and ma-
chines and were transformed into
leaves of whiteness and beauty, on
which are the very words of inspira-
tion."

Look yonder at the beautiful sun-
set and the varied, ever-changing glo-
ries of the heavens. What are these,
and whence came they? And the an-
swer ccrnies back, "These are they
which were once the poisonous vapors
and miasmatic gases of the stagnant
pools and the marshes, but which have
been kissed by the sun, drawn up and
changed into these surpassing glories."

Some day a great company of shin-
ing ones will be seen and admired, and
the question will be asked, "Who are
these, and whence came they?" And
the reply will come back, "These are
they who were once the ragamuffins
of the street and lane, the wayward
children of the alley and of the prison,
but who were taken up by strong
hands ancf loving hearts and have been
changed into useful citizens and have
been clothed in the white raiment of
purity and knowledge of love."

This is the object of the Juvenile
Court ; this is the mission of our state
institutions for such children; this is
the end of the legislative measures wc
are advocating ; this is the purpose of
the "Juvenile State" which we are cre-
ating for the unfortunate children of
our Southland; this is the one su-
preme purpose of the Juvenile State
Association, with all of its branches.

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SOME BEAUTIFUL WOMEN OF THE SOUTH

MISS EMILY ALB^T, OF BALTIMORE
Daughter of Hon. Talbot J. Albert, now American Consul at Bfunswick, Germany

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SOME BEAUTIFUL WOMEN OF THE SOUTH 153

MISS MAfiY DIGGES BELL
Ban Antonio

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154 THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

MISS MARTHA CALHOUN

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SOME BEAUTIFUL WOMEN OF THE SOUTH 155

MISS JANINE A. KERR

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156 THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

MRS. CHARLES R. GANTZ

Baltimore

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THE HOME OF JOE JEFFERSON

JOE JEFFERSON'S LOUISIANA HOME

By Campbell MacLeod

Photographs by Elizabeth M. Pinckard

NY have read and enjoyed
he delightful sketches of the
[oe Jefferson that Francis
w, which have been a popu-
of a well-known monthly
for many issues. The Joe Jefferson
that William Winter knew and loved
has also been featured in magazine ar-
ticles at length. There is another Joe
Jefferson equally lovable — the Joe Jef-
ferson whose memory lingers in the
"Cajun" section of Louisiana, where
he lived a part of each year for many
years, a modest sportsman and a model
neighbor. The Joe Jefferson that the
"Cajuns" loved was to them not the
world-famed actor but the kind friend,
the generous benefactor.

Jefferson's old home, on Orange or
Jefferson's Island, may be reached by
the Southern Pacific Railroad, which
will leave you at "Bob Acres," the sta-

tion whose name is self-explanatory.
The dwelling house is two miles from
there. Or you may drive from New a
Iberia, which is the pleasanter way and
a trip of about three hours. This
drive, if you are fortunate enough to
make the pilgrimage in the late spring,
is one of the delightful experiences that
will remain with you ; for about seven
miles of the road leads through a
Cherokee rose hedge that is then a
glory of golden-hearted, creamy blos-
soms. These gleam against the glossy
green of the leaves and the long vistas
that stretch as far as the eye can reach
present an avenue to which a landscape
gardener could say his prayers. Part
of this hedge, it is said, was planted
by Mr. Jefferson himself. But hedges
of this character seem to be a feature
all over that part of the country.
This section of Louisiana is the fa-

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158

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

mous prairie, and it would be diflScult
to find anything more picturesque than
the acres of rolling green pasture
lands, dotted here and there by nu-
merous lavender-lace-veiled pools of
water hyacinths. Here the cane fields
stretch forth to unnumbered acres.
The eye loses itself in the far lines of
forest miles away. The road runs like
a dusty ribbon with many turns and
unexpected twists past tiny stores at
cross-roads and occasionally a church
or schoolhouse.

"Yer turn in at er gate half er mile

rounded by a pretty hedge of wild
guava. The entrance these days is
from the back, and the drive through
the woods, for the forest runs right up
to the stables, and it is surpassingly
beautiful. The house is deserted now,
except for a care-taker, an old family
servant, Villere Dupree, who served
Joe Jefferson as long as he lived on
Orange Island.

Most of the original furniture of the
house has been moved away. There
remain several pictures, among them a
painting by Jefferson himself. This is

FWE GENERATIONS OF "cAJUN" WEAVERS WITH THEIR LOOMS AND SPURNING WHEELS

this side uver big bo'din' house," were
the explicit' direction given our party
by a small "Cajun" boy hoeing in a
field. "The bo'din' house is 'bout
three-quarters uv er mile from here, and
hit's half er mile up the road from er old
tree. Turn in the th' third gate and
keep to the road," In the course of
an hour we got in the right gate and
turned towards the house visible over
the tree tops on the hill on which it
stands.

The house is large and pleasantly
r^rnblinp ; it sits on ^ hi)l and is s\ir-

a bit of his earlier work, and is along
the lines of his favorite theme, the
misty, moss-draped Southern swamps.
The paint is beginning to peel from
this, and the gold frame is tarnished
to such a degree that the picture might
be taken to be a hundred years old.
Jefferson's studio is in the upper story.
It seems alive with his presence to-day,
for on the walls are streaks of paint,
seemingly still fresh; there are old
paint tubes twisted and dried and a
number of blocked off canvases, on
which pictures w^r^ started, On the

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JOE JEFFERSON'S LOUISIANA HOME

159

walls are odd daubs that his servant,
who followed at our heels to dilateonhis
beloved master, explained were where
Mr. JeflFerson loved to test his colors.
Here are nailed up cardboards and ad-
dresses. One of them was addressed to

J. JEFFERSON,

CASE OF

John Mmvx, or New Orleans.

Mr, Jefferson evidently liked to
paint all over the place, for his belong-
ings are scattered about in the several
closets that open into this room, and
even out on the crazy little balcony
that is reached through what was built

I in the corner still

press. This, the

as the pride of his

►rds he

tige Is-

e, take
The

this to

i to tell,

is task

K>ks as
good as new. Here, he
continued, Mr. Jefferson
would come in the early
morning, to paint after he
had returned from a tramp
through the woods. At
Itmcheon time he would be
so absorbed in his painting
that the only way to get him scene on
to come for a bite to eat
was to take his Iwushes out of his hand.
He did not resent this familiarity, for
his servants loved him, and he realized
that everybody knew better than him-
self when it was time for him to eat.
**He told me I had been an ideal ser-
vant," Villere boasted. "Always on
hand when wanted, and never in the
way when he didn't want me around.
And when he left he said it was for
good, and he gave me twenty-five dol-
lars for a present."

The upper part of the Jefferson
house is a Chinese puzzle that will
keep you awake nights after you have
visited it. There are about six or
seven rooms, all so cut up and devious
that they couldn't possibly have been
designed for bedrooms, and none of

them finished. The studio is the largest
of these, but it is far from suggesting
a pleasant room in winter. There is no
way of heating it. Jefferson used to
have lamps placed about the room to
heat it. He was mortally afraid of
gasoline, and he abhorred a stove.

The story goes that the reason Jef-
ferson left this place was because he
came very near being accidentally hur-
ried out of life there. It happened this
way:

When the house was built he was not
then a young man, and he had all the
stage superstitions, among others that
it is not wise for an old man to live in
a new house — while it is still very new.
So when he had the house built he did

BAYOU TECHE, GOING TO JEFFERSON S ISLAND

not live in it. His apartments were in
the yard in an old-fashioned "office."
After he had stayed two years in this,
he concluded that the house was suf-
ficiently ancient for habitation. The
"office" was accordingly rolled up to
the house. Shortly afterwards a gaso-
line stove exploded in the bathroom,
and Mr. Jefferson always insisted that
it was a miracle — he was in the room
at the time — and escaped. The next
morning he announced his intention of
leaving the place.

It is not the province of the writer
to pass on Mr. Jefferson as an artist —
from a painter's standpoint — but it is
hard to believe that any man who could
consent to desecrating so ancient and
lovely a spot as the place on which the

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THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

house stands by a gingerbread, Queen
Anne and a general mixture of "pe-
riods" could have the true artistic ap-
preciation of the appropriate. For the
house itself is to other houses what
chow-chow pickle is to other pickles —
a combination embracing everything in
architecture. The galleries are broad
and the posts to them small and fancy.
The finish to the front should have
been imposing and in keeping with
lines of simplicity and strength, in-
stead all dignity has been frittered
away with gim-
crack lattice-work
decorations in star
and crescent de-
sign.

The rooms are
large and comfor-
table. One won-
ders at the mind
that ever conceived
the idea of placing
them as they stand.
Surely the archi-
tect must have been
the forerunner of
the man who con-
structed the mir-
ror-maze, for once
you get in one, it
takes some time to
get out, and never
by the same way
you entered.

The paper has
faded in these
rooms now, and the
tiles are falling out
in the fireplaces. A few good steel en-
gravings remain. Among these are
the old-fashioned "Welcome," "Fare-
well" and " Mother and Child." In
the dining-room a really fine piece of
French inlaid work in a cabinet re-
mains. It is interesting to note that
most of the windows in these rooms
are of the tiny-paned Colonial period,
set in bow-wiodow style. The various
deer horns and hunting pictures about
the place indicate that it has al-
ways been in the hands of those who
love the gun and rod.

Here Joe Jefferson entertained

ONE OF JOE Jefferson's cajun neigh-
bors, MADAME GUIS GUIS

many famous people. Grover Cleve-
land was a frequent visitor, and any ac-
tor or actress was always welcome.
While Mr. Jefferson bought the place
for the rest and recreation and did no
entertaining on a lavish scale, there
were always visitors in his home. Wil-
liam Winter, the famous dramatic critic,
was a near neighbor at that time, and a
dear friend. The hunting preserve
here is one of the finest in the whole
country. It embraces three thou-
sand acres, and snipe and partridge
abound. Here,
also, Jefferson had
one of the finest
kennels in the
South.

Theogene La-
baue, a Cajun, who
lived on the Jeffer-
son estate from the
time it was pur-
chased by the Jef-
fersons, tells many
interesting stories
of the old days
when the genial
owner and his
friends used to
come down for the
winter.

Those were
great days for the
tenants on the is-
land. "M.JoeJef-
fairson," the Ca-
jun explained in
his broken English,
"he brang Santa
Claus for averbody. Nobody not for-
gotten. He brang toys, clothes, pres-
ents for every family. He remember
all the children — no, not one was ever
forgotten. We call him Santa Claus,
yes." But to reproduce the quaint pa-
tois of the Cajun is a task to which the
present writer humbly admits total in-
adequacy, so the conversation with La-
baue is done into English.

Mr. Jefferson would come weighted
down with presents for everybody. His
generosity was well known, and the
Cajuns were not slow in letting him
know they adored people who gave^

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JOE JEFFERSON^S LOUISIANA ttOME

i6i

presents. The first time he came to
have any dealing with him, the speaker
explained, was many years ago, when
the Jeffersons wanted to restock the
island with quail. Labaue's children
undertook to trap the birds, and he
brought them to the Jefferson house.
Charlie Jefferson opened the bag. The
birds flew away. Then he turned to
the astonished Cajun to ask how much
he owed him.

"Nothing," that one replied. "See,
they are gone."

"I bought them to turn loose on the
island." He hand-
ed Labaue ten dol-
lars.

"ni take it to
the children," he
replied. "I'll say
it is a present sent
by Mr. Charlie Jef-
ferson."

This was the be-
ginning of a
friendship between
the two. For La-
baue proudly
claims Charlie Jef-
ferson as his best
friend. "Ah, but
he was of the big
heart," he exclaims
affectionately. "He
was the one every-
body loved."

Charlie Jefferson
lived on the island
for a niunbcr of
years. Here, about
half a mile from
the home house, is the cottage that lie
built for his beautiful wife, who 'lied
and was buried there under the gray-
draped trees that hide the cottage from
view. The Cajuns loved Charlie Jef-
ferson. He was one of them. He v.as
at heart a cowboy, and entered into
their sports, their amusements, with all
the energy and enthusiasm of a na-
tive son of the soil. Indeed, when the
question'of the Jeffersons is brought up,
they will switch from the distinguished
father to tell you of the exploits of the
son. They have heard vaguely of Joe

LAKE NICOLETTE IN WHICH JEFFERSON S IS
LAND IS SITUATED

Jefferson's acting, but they know that
Charlie is the greatest actor the world
will ever see, for they have seen him
act. They will tell you of the time he
acted in New Iberia. It is a story
handed down from father to son, how
the house rang to the echo with the
enthusiasm of the audience who were
seeing a play perhaps for the first time.
The fever for the stage was in-
herited in the Jefferson family. Even
when Charlie Jefferson was supposed
to be farming he had dreams of mak-
ing his fortune on the stage. "Char-
lie, he say to me,"
Labaue reminis-
cenced, " 'I put on
de play. It make
one hit. I come
back with great
money. I farm the
rest of my life and
live here.' " It was
on one of these
trips North that
Charlie Jefferson's
wife died. He had
gone to New York
with high hopes of
making his for-
tune on " The
Shadows of a Great
City," or some play
like that. While
he was away she
died. Naturally,
after that the asso-
ciations were pain-
ful to him, and he
left for the North.
The Cajuns still
look for him to come back "home" to
live.

One of the treats that Jefferson al-
ways laid great stress on giving his
guests was "Cajun" coffee. They
would call on the different tenants to
drink with them. Labaue tells with
pride how Mr. Cleveland told him " *he
had never got no cafe like dat in his
life before.'" Mr. Jefferson also de-
clared that nobody in the world could
equal the Cajuns in preparing his fa-
vorite drink. In the hunting trips
through the country all of the Ca-

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THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOt) MAGAZINE

juns on the island were visited, and
coffee was taken at every place — ^to
avoid the petty jealousies which would
have been engendered if some had been
slighted.

Cleveland's visit was a great time
out there. For it seems he was quite
as lavish and generous in gifts as his
host.

Labaue's wife spun a homespun suit
for Mr. Qeveland and a riding habit
for little Ruth, after his return to the
North. This was sent to the ex-
President as a Christmas oresent. In
return he sent Labaue fifty dollars.
"Yes, feefty dollar," emphasized the
lover of Christmas gifts.

Joe JeflFerson did much to help the
Cajun women introduce their goods.
His guests were always shown the
product of the looms on his place, and
many of them carried away suits of
homespun to be made up as a South-
em souvenir. Mme. Bicou-Bordreaux
and Mme. Jules, the two Cajun wea-
vers, were both well known to him, and
he patronized them liberally. While
they knew him then as a good man
and a lovable neighbor, they have no
idea even now how high he stood in
the aflFection of the world. It was not
generally known that Mr. Jefferson,
in spite of his worldly training, was a
timid man. And yet those who knew
him best during his residence in the
South declare that he was shy and dif-
fident in meeting strangers and ner-

vous about entering a roomful of
strangers as the veriest schoolboy.

Theogene Labaue has one treasure
that money can't buy — ^and this was
another "present" from his good
friend. It is a painting bv Joe Jeffer-
son of himself as "Rip Van Winkle."
"De ole man," the owner loves to talk
about the picture, "de ole man he come
out on de stage in de picture, he raise
his hand to his eyes, he lookin' for de
years dat are gone away."

No, he can't show you the picture,
he regrets, and explains: "Dat Bob
Broussard, our Representative, he
say to me, he say *let me tek de pic-
ture to Washington, D. C, to hang it
in de room on er wall for averbody —
all de friends of Mr. Jefferson — to see.'
So I say, 'Vairy well, tek it on to
Washington, to put in de room,' but I
say: 'Bob, ef de time come when I
cain't Stan' bein' separate from dat
picture no longer, and I get er letter
wrote to you sayin' return it to me, I
want you to onderstan' I want you to
hurry dat paintin' back frum Wash-
ington, D. C., to me.' Den Bob he say
vairy well, an' I say all de money
dat Grover Clevelan' 's got in de bank
couldn't part me frum dat picture. Hit
was painted by M. Joe Jefferson his-
self, and he giv hit as er present, er
gift, to me. Yes."

Here's to Joe Jefferson's memory.
May it always stay green in the land
and among the people he gladdened !

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MEN OF AFFAIRS

Hospitality is one of the great tra-
ditions of the South. It is this kindly
spirit which justifies a custom which
prevails widely among her young men.
Such of them as have made prepara-
tion of unusual usefulness in profes-
sional or business life are prone to
seek a field for effort in a state other
than that of their birth. Always they
find themselves ungfrudgingly and
cordially welcomed, and the facility
with which they fit themselves into
the new environment is a proof that the
people of the South are truly homo-
geneous. It is this custom, too, which
lends color to the good-natured boast-
ing which occupies so much space in
our newspapers. No Tennessean, if
it be Tennessee that, at the moment,
is pluming herself, will ever admit that
Alabama or Missouri or Texas could
manage to supply, from a native
source, the splendid talents which they
have borrowed from Tennessee, the in-
ference being, of course, that men like
Morgan or Pettus or Folk or Houston
are as plentiful in Tennessee as huckle-
berries. Mississippi never overlooks
an opportunity of reminding Texas
that Bailey was bom in Mississippi,
and that Mississippi finds it no trouble
at all to breed genius like Bailey's,
supply Texas wi3i all she needs and
have plenty left over for herself.

Kentucl^ and Tennessee have, per-
haps, made more of these drafts upon
each otlier's supplies of manhood tfian
have any of the other states. Ken-
tuddans coming to Tennessee and
finding the environment congenially
compounded of blue sky, rolling hills,
blue grass, fast horses and pretty wo-
men, have remained to compensate us
for the many Tennesseans who have
crossed Walter's and Henderson's line,

and grown permanently accustomed to
the alien mode of distilling com, which
is the only vital subject of difference
between the two commonwealths.

In this exchange of citizens, by the
acquisition of Hon. M. T. Bryan from
Kentucky, Tennessee has made one of
the clearest profits that ever accrued
to her at her sister's expense.

Mr. Bryan was bom in Bourbon
County, and his youth was the typical
American one — hard work on the
farm, mixed with terms at the country
school and the academy, a clerkship in
a store which won him the coveted
course in the law school, the beginning
of practice in a small town, which he
soon abandoned for a larger field. He
removed to Nashville, Tennessee, in
1873, where he has practiced law ever
since and always on the high plane of
honor, which is the fondest tradition
of that somewhat maligned profession.
He has conducted a large mass of pri-
vate affairs with g^reat ability and with
conspicuous success; he has been in
the State Senate, where he originated
much constructive and useful legisla-
tion; he was a delegate to the Na-
tional Democratic Convention of 1888,
and is at the present time the President
of the Tennessee State gar Associa-
tion, a member of the Library Board
and of the Park Commission of his
town. In fact it seldom happens that
a, public occasion of any sort does not
create a demand for his services either
as chairman or toastmaster or post-
prandial orator, in the discharge of
which functions he commands an ad-
dress and a social quality thoroughly
appreciated by every one.

There are always plenty of people
in the limelight who are making use
of their energy, tact, brains, and cour-

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

age to reach personal ends and per-
sonal profit. But surely it is more in-
teresting to get hold of a subject who
has never done anything showy or
spectacular, and to point out the quali-
ties of head and heart that have made
him, not only a delight to his friends,
but a pillar of usefulness to society.
Mr. Bryan has always cared deeply for
social ends and is unfeignedly inter-
ested in public affairs; but it can be
truly said that he cares less for sta-
tion and profit than for the
opportunity to do effective
service. As a result, there
has seldom been a move-
ment inaugurated in Ten-
nessee for public betterment
to which Mr. Bryan has not
given the benefit of his
splendid tact and ability for
organization. He knows
how to do things himself,
and he has the rare gift of
persuasion. He can weld
men together in organiza-
tions which cope success-
fully with the disappoint-
ments and difficulties in-
cident to all voluntary pub-
lic effort.

A notable instance of
this is the-work he has done
for the improvement of in-
land waterways. More than
twenty years ago Mr. Bry-
an took lipid of the pro-
ject of locking and dam-
ming the Cumberland Riv-
er. During all these years,
apparently so fruitless to
spirits less jealous than
his, he has hammered away
at the project. He has advertised it
and talked it and has never permitted
it to be forgotten by the people. He
has enlisted men of influence for it
and employed all the newspaper space
he could get for it. He has talked to
Congressional committees at Washing-
ton about it and has persuaded some
of those committees to come to Ten-
nessee and talk about it here. The
result of this is that Congress has
appropriated about three millions for

the river, and before Mr. Bryan gels
through there will be enough addi-
tional millions expended to make the
Cumberland navigable the year round
throughout its six hundred miles of
length. When this is, brought to pass,
the effect upon the commerce and
wealth of Tennessee and Kentucky will
be beyond computation. It is not an
exaggeration to say that this great
public benefit will be brought about
largely because one public-spirited

M. T. BRYAN

man believes that where energy and a
good cause are joined together, fail-
ure cannot follow.

The Sixtieth Congress will contain
in the Upper House two men who
have risen from newsboys to their pres-
ent high estate and that not through
the power of wealth, but through per-
sistence and proven merit. One of
these, Charles Curtis, of Kansas, is
entitled to every distinction which the

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MEN OF AFFAIRS

165

American people can bestow upon a
thoroughbred American, for his father
was an American soldier and his moth-
er a member of the Kaw tribe of In-
dians. He is, therefore, fitted by in-
heritance to undertake the solution of
the governmental problems in the
Western part of our country, and he
is by acquirement one of the best-read
and most generally informed members
of the Senate. He has served his state
in the Lower House for fourteen
years and has gained much valuable
experience, which will enable him to
handle his new work with ease and

SENATOR CHARLES T. CURTIS

to this, Mr. Curtis'

twenty-three years of political work
in his state have given him the
confidence and sympathy of his peo-
ple. They know he is working for
their interests, and he know s they be-
lieve in him. With this mutual trust,
Kansas cannot fail of great profit from
her choice.

When Mr. Curtis was bom, forty-
seven years ago, the Indians were not
the wards of the nation as now, and he
had a rough-and-tumble youth. Al-
ways ambitious, he attended school
whenever he coi.ld and between times
earned his living as a newsboy. He

was also successively a boot-black and
a jockey and was driving a public
hack when he commenced the study
of law. Two years later he was ad-
mitted to the Kansas bar, and he then
entered politics. A genial nature and
a magnetic personality and a thorough
knowledge of his fellow men made
Mr. Curtis popular everywhere he
went. In 1884 he was elected Prose-
cuting Attorney of Shawnee County,
and the vigor and integrity he dis-
played in this position led the Kansas
voters to send him to represent the
Sunflower State in Congress. The
probability is that
he will continue in
his present office
as long as he cares
to fill it.

Mr. Curtis has
the erect bearing,
the lithe, muscular ,
figure and the coal-
black hair and eyes
of the typical In-
dian. He is proud
of his Kaw ances-
try and never neg-
lects the remnant of
his race, now liv-
ing on an Okla-
homa reservation.

Mrs. Curtis is in
every way fitted to
adorn and further
her husband's ca-
reer. Of a most
gracious personali-
ty, of unbounded
hospitality and interest in questions of
the day, she is a practical woman, with
common-sense ideas on home-making
and child-training. There are three
bright, healthy children, the eldest,
Permelia, now a senior at Wellesley
College. Harry, the only son, is now
in his third High School year at Wash-
ington, where the youngest daughter
is also a pupil.

A citizen of the world, a deep stu-
dent of social and political economy,
a diplomat, an editor, and a success-
ful planter, Mr. Van Leer Polk has re-

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THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ture. During Mr. Cleve-
land's second administra-
tion he was appointed Con-
sul-General at Calcutta and
only resigned this position
to take active part in the
Bryan campaign. He was
one of the delegates ap-
pointed by President
Roosevelt to attend the
Pan-American Congress at
Rio de Janeiro in 1906, and
smce that time has devoted
his energies to the upbuild-
ing of the phosphate in-
dustry.

MR. VAN LEER FOLK

cently joined the movement for the de-
velopment of the wonderful phosphate
mines of his native section, . Middle
Tennessee. Here, at the old Polk
homestead, "Ashwood," he combines
the broad hospitality for which the
manor was once celebrated with the
keen devotion to business necessary to
the building up of mighty interests.
Maury County phosphate rock is of
the highest rank in the commercial
world and its successful mining and
sale bring additional prosperity to a
county already famous as the home of
the Hal pacers, Jersey cattle, and other
blooded stock.

The Polk family have always been
prominent in the annals of the state
and of the nation. Mr. Polk, after
receiving his education at Rugby, in
England, and at Rome, traveled exten-
sively in Europe, Asia and Africa.
He returned to his home and was chos-
en to represent Maury and Lewis
Counties in the Tennessee Legisla-

The Fort family has con-
tributed as much to the
shaping of the history of
Tennessee as any family in
the state, William Fort
being a delegate to the first
Constitutional Convention,
which met in Knoxville, in
January, 1796, and from
that time to the present
day some member of this
illustrious family has been

JOEL B. FORT

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MEN OF AFFAIRS

167

active in all things pertaining to af-
fairs of state.

Joel B. Fort was born in Robertson
County, August 5th, 1854. As a lad,
he worked on the farm and attended
the common schools of his locality un-
til 1872, when he entered Cumberland
University, at Lebanon, from which he
graduated with high honors two years
afterwards. Returning home, he took
up the practice of law and from the
beginning took front rank with the
ablest lawyers of the state:

In 1887, he was elected to the State
L^slature and so acquitted himself
that in 1889, he was returned with an
increased majority of votes. It was at
this session that he was made Chair-
man of the famous Farmers' Caucus
in which Colonel House, A. S. Marks
and General Bate contended so long
for the United States Senatorship.

Tiring of politics, he retired to his
farm near the thriving little town of
Adams, to devote his entire time to his

chosen profession, and agricultural
pursuits.

When the great movement for the
protection of the tobacco growers was
organized, Mr. Fort was one of the
first to draw his sword in defense of
the planters, and has ever since labored
assiduously in their interests. Through
his instrumentality protection associa-
tions have been formed throughout the
tobacco-growing districts of Tennes-
see, Kentucky, and Virginia, and plans
for mutually beneficial relations have
been adopted.

Mr. Fort is an earnest and convin-
cing speaker. To his natural oratorical
gifts he adds a thorougl] knowledge of
the economic principles governing the
world's tobacco market, and so well
equipped is he for leadership in this
work that his services are in great
demand, and a large portion of his
time is given up to organizing and di-
recting the interests of the Planters'
Protective Association.

ONE-ARMED SAM BERRY

SOME COMMENT AND REMINISCENCE OF A
NOTORIOUS KENTUCKY WAR CHARACTER

By Will Levington Comfort

MONG the charac-
ters of Kentucky,
J) strenuous enough
to force their names
into books of his-
tory, and who have
kept the annals of
their native state
alive and significant,
is "One-Armed"
Sam Berry, of Boyle
County, notorious among tiie guerril-
las of the Qvil War. This is the story
of a pale, studious schoolteacher, a
classmate of Col. W. C. P. Breckin-
ridge, of Lexington, who became a
scourge and a firebrand, fit to be

mentioned in the same breath with At-
tila and Genghis Khan.

Central Kentucky is ripe with remi-
niscences of the "One-Armed." The
trails he rode over; the bams from
which he looted his thoroughbreds;
the gun-shot scars in trees, porches,
and window-casings which he made
with his good right arm when he hap-
pened to miss or go clean through a
fellow citizen — ^these are pointed out
still, and with no false shame — ^mudi
the same as the landmarks of the
James boys are shown to a wayfarer
in Missouri.

Samuel Oliver Berry came from a
good family, which means something

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

m Kentucky. There wasn't a more
docile, gun-shy or studious youth in
all the rolling land. He would play
marbles, but not for keeps. Inciden-
tally, the elders of Boyle County, to-
day, have all played marbles with one-
armed Sam. He must have filled one
decade pretty full of mibs, agates,
glassies and agate-agates. His stom-
ach revolted at the tfiought of killing
a rabbit, and he was called to the car-
pet repeatedly by the gang for being
a milk and water, party. Still there
was something about young Sam,
some subtle phase of eye or hand,
that kept his person bright with his
pals. It is not on record that he ever
turned loose in his boyhood days
the fighting lust that made him great
and formidable in the later days.

And what does the pale, studious
youth do at the end of his school days,
but "take over" a school and teach
boys and girls a step beneath him, the
way to write and read and keep up
their deportment averages ! He didn't
gad anybody. His voice never rumbled
over the township. His was a model
school, a pious school. All incorrigi-
bility in youth and maiden, however,
died before his gray eye, which could
freeze like liquid air, and on occasion,
glow like radium.

ARM AND CIDER MILL

Up to this time, Sam Berry was
not handicapped in body or brain.
It was during a summer vacation,
when cider activities were opening
up in the little town of Perryville,
that Sam obtained a position in a
cider mill. During the second week of
work, his left arm was chewed off
in the machinery ; leisurely, thorough-
ly, out-rooted at the shoulder. Sam
tore himself free, and stood up with-
out a whimper, but pale as death, un-
til the doctor came, twenty minutes
later. There was not enough of the
arm left to afford room for a binding
to stanch the flow of blood. Such an
exhibition of nerve had never been
seen in the county.

This accident, it is claimed, soured
Sam's temper somewhat. At least, it

combined, with a later tragedy, to
change the tenor of his life. He had
scarcely healed when the war broke
out, and the gray eyes boiled. Of the
South, brain and bone and passion,
was this so-far-controlled volcano. He
tried to go out with a little detach-
ment from Perryville, but was gently
refused, on account of his disability.
He went over to Lexington, and down
to Memphis to enlist, but was refused
in both places. Then the high seas of
his rage broke over him.

KINGDOM FOR A HORSE

He was not to be denied the joy of
waging war against the North. Per-
ryville was astounded on one of those
parlous mornings at the beginning of
the war, to find that "One-Armed"
Sam Berry had disappeared ; also Ro-
anoke, one of the prettiest thorough-
breds ever bred in Boyle O^unty. The
stallion belonged to the man who had
refused to take Sam for a Confederate
soldier. At this point Sam's Southern
oatriotism was considered a trifle ar-
dent, even by his friends.

Tales soon began to pour up from the
battle-grounds of Sam's demoniacal
prowess afield. He had become a
sort of free lance in action — running
amuck in the face of battle-Knes; do-
ing hair-raising deeds of espionage,
carrying messages through armed
camps, and turning up like a crippled
ghost in the moments of thickest ac-
tion.

ROUTINE WAR SLOW FOR SAM

Kentucky swears that the war never
produced his equal as a chance-taker
and a lucky survival. Certainly he
thrust his thrilling figure into the
very vortices of action, again and yet
again. History is more concerned
with his later escapades. "One-
Armed" Sam fretted in the winter's
lull of '62 and '63. Camps of prepara-
tion didn't please him. His strange
soul was aroused. The blood-madness
was a brimming fountain in his brain.

Moreover, he couldn't forget Ken-
tucky, where he had been turned
down. He rode north from Tennessee

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ONE-ARMED SAM BERRY

169

to the town of Bloomfield, Nelson
County, and organized a band of
euerrillas. Then 3ie Hyde in this pale,
studious pedagogue began to revel.
He stole horses; and when over-
stocked, forced the owners at gun-
point to buy them back at high prices.
They say that he had round shoulders
then; that he sat on his mount like a
drunken sailor; that he demanded in-
stant obedience and granite gameness
from his followers ; tiiat the gray eyes
glowed like a cat's in the dark.

PERRYVILLE SCORES SETTLED

He burned his way back to Perry-
ville with his men — ashes, destitution
and death in his wake. This was
"One-Armed" Sam's lone war. He
was an enemy to the North and South
now. The Federal soldiers closed
about him on the raid, but he gave
them the slip ; and on a quiet morning,
early in 1864, the "One- Armed" and
twelve men dashed into Perr3rville
from the Mackville pike, yelling and
firing in the true style of the open.
Those valiant enough to offer resis-
tance were shot down.

"Every man of you, form into line !"
the "One-Armed" yelled to the vil-
lagers, with a curse like that which
helped Ethan Allen to Ticonderoga.
The townspeople, including many
old friends of tfie schoolmaster, gath-
ered in a ragged front before the En-
terprise Hotel, a hundred or more,
their hands raised heavenward, as re-
quested. Sam and his twelve went
through the company. Then the raid-
ers dividedji six to stand guard, and
six to loot the houses.

SAM WANTS DICK LESTER

There was a man named Richard
Lester whom Sam wanted to kill. Les-
ter wasn't in the line, nor in his house,
but an old man, named Lawson, was
found in the dining-room of Lester's
house. In a fit of impatience at not
finding his quarry, Sam killed the old
man. Then the enterprising home-
comer rode his horse into Wallace

Green's drugstore and looted the cash-
drawers from the saddle. Under the
counter a man's figure was hunched.
Sam let go a shot on general princi-
ples, and routed the desired Lester,
who dashed for the rear window, and
took it with him, casing and all. The
back of the building opens onto the
Chaplain river, the bed of which was
rock-covered, and twenty feet below
the window which Lester demolished.
By a miracle, the fleeing one missed
the rocks and made good his get-
away. At this moment, Sam encount-
ered an uncle of his whom he had al-
ways respected. ITiis was Henry Mc-
Graw, who lived in Perr3rville until
his death.

"Sam, get out of here and let us
alone!" McGraw commanded.

"All right, Uncle!" the guerrilla re-
sponded, riding out at the head of his
men and shouting, "Forward !"

THE FEDERALS ARRIVE

Perr3rville was not yet through with
her busiest day. Captain Fiddler and
thirty-five Federal horsemen next
"took" the town. They needed food
and mounts and guns. They took
what they needed; at least, what the
"One-Armed" had left, and pushed
on after the outlaw. Fiddler's meth-
ods were somewhat different from
Sam's, however, insomuch that the
residents were afterwards paid for the
stuff that the Federals seized.

UGLY DEATH ENDS SCENE

It was very little later that Berry
and his men were run down. Sam was
shot from his horse ; but did not give
up until he was insensible. His cap-
tors, it is said, allowed him partly to
recover in the Union prison at Joliet,
Illinois. The story told of his end is
that he became incorrigible again, and
was placed under a stream of cold
water for discipline. At all events, he
died under the heinous torture, and
it is recorded, that the "One-Armed"
is buried in the National cemetery on
the outskirts of Joliet.

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Drawing by Mayna T, Avent

THE hunter's moon

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THE HUNTER'S MOON

BY HELEN T. DICKINSON

The evening star hath set.

Not yet
The west grown grey
Where little tongues of flame

Proclaim :
' Here died the Day."

Tip-toeing winds the mossy pathways tread.
Because the day is dead.

Hush'd all the deepwood aisles.

Defiles,
And grottoes where
Dark shadows slowly sift

Adrift,
On waters there.

Beneath the late denuded poplar trees
That whisper to the breeze.

Now suddenly, behold f

All gold
The vale doth seem—
A largess without stint,

Aglint,
Falls on' the stream.

And every dampened twig and blade of grass
Appears a living jewel in the pass.
For now upriseth bright

To-night,
The Hunter's Moon,
Her shield alt polished.

And red
Her hunting shoon.

As o'er the hills she riseth gracious-slow.
Smiling the while upon the world below.

Camp fires in the vale

Grow pale
Beneath her ray.
Where huntsmen to the skies

Their eyes
Uplift and say :

Hail to the Queen f " as through the forests ring
The happy choruses of songs they sing.

The Htmter's Moon once shone

Days gone.
Mayhap on one
Who in a lonely wood

Mute stood.
As turned to stone.

Before a stag, twixt whose dark antlers reared.
The Holy Symbol of the Lord appeared.
And she shed golden gleams.

It seems.
With lovely light.
When Robin Hood was wont

To hunt
In Arden's night ;

And o'er all Hunters she shall ever shine.
Pair Dian—of the ancients held divine.

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CHAPTER XIV

On the Squire's return to town,
zealously urged by his mission to warn
the officers of the law of the intended
attack on the New Pike p^te, he felt
that supreme elation of spirits belong-
ing to a man who already scents splen-
did victory in the near future.

Indeed, it promised to be a double
one, for not only would he be enabled
to strike an effective blow at the raid-
ers, whose warfare on the toll-gates
threatened him with a considerable fi-
nancial loss, but he would also have
it in his power to crush one whose
ever-unwelcome presence in the neigh-
borhood seemed likely to deprive the
Squire of winning a wife.

The wily old man reasoned with
himself that he would much prefer to
have his nephew alive and in the peni-
tentiary than simply dead. Incarcera-
tion would prove a far more lasting
and complete revenge than death. In
death there would only come a quick
oblivion to the Squire's victory, on
the nephew's part, while in a long im-
prisonment, which to the victim would
be a living death, there would yet re-
main a daily and hourly comprehen-
sion of unhappy facts, besetting the
helpless prisoner like a pack of hun-
gry wolves attacking their prey — ^an
ever-present hideous knowledge of his

VEUMD vy/ito

condition, and his
mastery of the situa-

sh, this growing hope

lew in just such a liy-

fanned the hatred of

a glowing heat, and

more determined that

^.> «wOn feel the blighting

power of his wrath, even though walls
of massive stone, and behind barred
doors.

All the way to town the old man
fed his sluggish imagination by pic-
turing his kinsman and rival thus im-
prisoned, slowly eating away his heart
in range and solitude, understanding
full well that his sweetheart had be-
come the wife of the man he most
hated in all the world. Ah! what
could be a greater punishment than
this? Death would prove sweet com-
pared to it.

The Squire chuckled to himself in
a sort of fiendish delight at the mental
picture of anguish he had conjured up.

In their last bitter quarrel, when the
young man had been driven from the
Squire's home, the nephew had bold-
ly laughed in his uncle's face, taunt-
ing him with his age and decrepitude,
and declaring that he would yet win
the girl in spite of all that the old man
might do.

Youth and manly beauty are a pow-
erful offset to wealth and ag^ in the
eyes of a young woman. The Squire
understood this fully, and chafed un-
der the knowledge, but he resolutely
determined to see what craft and cun-
ning could accomplish in the unequal
struggle. He made up his mind to
marry the pretty toll-taker, though
there were a dozen importunate suitors

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

173

in the way. He would ruthlessly tram-
ple them all underfoot, or sweep them
aside, as he meant to do his nephew,
showing neither pity nor mercy.

Ofttimes perseverance is even more
eflfective than love, and the Squire
was not of the kind to be easily thwart-
ed when he had once made up his mind
to attain a desired result. Stubborn-
ness and determination were his
strongest characteristics. These two
traits, cleverly united, have carried
many a man to success.

Deep down in his wicked old heart
he had carefully considered the plan of
having his nephew put quietly out of
the way — the Squire knew a man that
money could easily buy for this pur-
pose — ^but the Squire disliked to part
with money, and besides he did not
care to place himself in a position to
be bled by a hireling.

For obvious reasons, therefore, it
would serve his purpose much better
if Milt got himself hopelessly en-
tangled in the meshes of the law by
his own acts, rather than the Squire
should be accused of helping to bring
about his nephew's ruin. There would
be much less difficulty in winning the
girl, the old man thought, ignorant of
what she already knew.

As matters now stood, everything
was working beautifully to his interest,
and with the exercise of a little di-
plomacy, such as he well knew how to
employ when occasion demanded, his
plans would soon be happily accom-
plished, and his nephew's downfall
speedily brought about.

When Squire Bixler got home again,
after an interview with the sheriff, he
replenished the fire, closed the shut-
ters, and discarding his heavy boots
for his carpet slippers, he gathered the
papers about him, and sat down to
read. Although his usual bedtime had
passed, he only yawned occasionally,
and consulted his heavy time-piece, or
glanced at the tall clock in the
comer.

Along toward the midhour of the
night he suddenly aroused himself
from the stupor of sleep that was be-
ginning to lay hold of him, and.

straightening himself in his arm-chair,
listened attentively.

A sound which seemed at first elu-
sive grew clearer to his alert ear,
arousing his drowsy faculties to fuller
consciousness. It was an easy matter to
interpret that sound aright — indeed,
his ear had done so quickly. It was a
welcome sound for which he had been
impatiently listening all these long,
weary hours, and it signified the raid-
ers were abroad.

The old man sat motionless, listen-
ing intently. Qear and distinct, in
measures musical as steel hammers on
an anvil, came the rapid hoofbeat of
horses along the pike, now louder
where the open fields spread out on
either side of the road, now dull and
muffled when a hillock intervened.

As the sound grew nearer the
Squire hasily arose, and blowing out
his candle went to the window and
opened it. The body of horsemen
were even then passing his avenue
gate.

Now the raiders were climbing the
little hill that arose between his place
and the toll-house, each fall of the iron
shoe seemed a sharp, clear note,
played in staccato time, on the hard,
white surface of the pike, then the
notes grew less distinct, softened and
shaded as by a soft pedal, when the
raiders descended the farther side of
the hill. They must soon be at the
very gate.

The Squire listened. There came a
pause in the hoof music, then a soli-
tary horseman took up the refrain.
The listener recalled to mind the re-
quest that his recent nocturnal visitor
had made concerning this advance
guard — that harm should not come to
him — and a grim smile played over
the old man's face as he silently hoped
that this one, too, might fall. The
Squire had urged upon the sheriff that
no man should escape — not one.

Suddenly a shot rang out — then an-
other — two, three — a half-dozen.
Quickly a volley poured forth, start-
ling the night with clamorous echoes.

The fight was on in fierce earnest-

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174

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ness between the raiders and defend-
ers of the gate.

. CHAPTER XV

The distance that Milton Derr had
to go to reach the New Pike gate,
from where the raiders halted and held
parley, was but a short one, measured
by paces, yet during that brief ride
many irrelevant things came crowding
fast upon his memory — indeed, it
seemed that his whole life's history
was swiftly reviewed in that brief pe-
riod.

His boyhood days arose to his mind
— those careless, happy days of early
youth that were spent amid the wild,
sweet freedom of the hills, from which
he had just now ridden — ^the old
schoolhouse in Alder Creek glen, that
unforgotten spot where pretty Sally
Brown had first ensnared his boyish
heart and held it a willing captive ever
since.

He recalled to mind the sharp pang^
of jealousy Jade Beddow took a de-
light in arousing in his youthful bo-
som by showing marked attention to
the object of their mutual admiration
— then of gloomier matters, his moth-
er's illness and her death, which had
wrung his heart with the bitterest
grief that had ever crept into his young
life. There came to mind a memory
of the subsequent home with his uncle
— ^a home that meant little else than a
mere shelter, and ah opportunity for
much hard work, for the Squire was a
grasping man, close and calculating,
and required of every one the last
atom of eflfort.

Most clear in his memory was that
eventful day when his uncle first
learned that the smiles of the pretty
toll-taker were rather for the nephew
than for the uncle, and this discovery
seemed suddenly to change the
Squire's indiflference toward his ward
into an intense hatred, which smol-
dered for a while, then at last broke
forth into a fierce flame of passion,
when there was a bitter quarrel, and
the yoimg man was driven from his
uncle's roof, and went back to live
amid his native hills once more.

When Milton Derr made up his
mind to join the raiders, he was ac-
tuated by the two strongest passions
that sway the human heart — love and
hate. The first and uppermost one
urged him to join the band in order
that he might be able to influence the
members to spare the New Pike gate,
for the present, at least; the second
made it evident that, by aiding in the
general destruction of toll-houses
Siroughout the county, and the abol-
ishment of tolls, he would be in a po-
sition to do his kinsman much dam-
age, and aflfect the most vulnerable
spot in evidence — ^his pocket Thus,
in Derr's bosom, love and hate held al-
most equal sway.

All these things passed in hurried
review through the rider's excited
mind, like a fleeting: panorama, brief,
yet clear and intense as the glimpse
of a surrounding landscape seen by
the flash of the lightning's path across
the starless heavens.

He once more recalled to mind the
conversation that his sweetheart had
overheard and repeated to him, which
had taken place between his uncle and
some unknown man upon the public
highway. Could this mysterious per-
son have been Jade Beddow, and had
they arranged it between them to have
him sent forward so thafhe might be
shot, or taken prisoner? This was
evidently the trap that had been so
adroitlv set, and into which he was
now riding, though not without pro-
test.

Won to this belief, he still rode on-
ward unflinchingly toward the toll-
house now looming up before him like
a ghostly warning, and dimly outlined
against the cold gray midnight sky.

Nature herself seemed steeped in
profound slumber at this wan, late
hour, and neither life nor movement
was visible about the place. The soli-
tary horseman appeared to be the only
living object in all that cheerless, dim-
ly-defined landscape. There was no
sign of danger on any hand, no sus-
picious movement of a lurking enemy.
The deep silence of night's midhour
brooded over the quiet scene, and its

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

175

peace fell heavily upon it like the man-
tle of darkness round about.

The lone rider began to look about
him with growing cwifidence. It was
all so quiet, so still, so filled with the
hush of midnight — surely the monition
he had received that the gate would
be guarded must have been built on
mere rumor without the foundation of
fact.

When he came to the gate, he found
the pole up, as it was wont to be at so
late an hour of the night, and after
pausing a brief moment, thinking ten-
derly of one within the darkened toll-
house, he passed from under the raised
pole; and rode a short distance along
the road.

Once again he paused, and looked
back, and listened. No sight or sound
betrayed the presence of guard or offi-
cer. It must be that the posse had
failed to materialize, believing the ru-
mor of an impending attack mere idle
talk. With a feeling of relief the
horseman raised a whistle to his lips
and blew a sharp call as a signal that
the raiders might advance.

In quick response the clatter of many
hoofs came beating down the road in
rythmic measure.

Suddenly — ^breaking harshly into
the musical ring of the hurrying hoof-
beats — ^rang the discordant note of a
shot from out the darkness, and quick
upon it came another, while the ad-
vance rider, startled and surprised by
its unexpectedness, heard the bullet
singing keenly past his ear.

An answering fire from the oncom-
ing raiders, shooting at random, seek-
ing an unseen and hidden foe, awoke
the echoes, and speedily a volley of
shots from both raiders and guards
filled the quiet night with tumultuous
sounds.

For a brief space of time Derr sat
motionless on his horse, making no ef-
fort to escape, stunned by the surprise
of his attack, then realizing that a fight
was really on, that the gate was imder
guard, and, despite his warnings, the
band had gotten themselves into a
jeopardous situation, while he, being a
sworn member, must now stand or fall

with it. He turned quickly about and
dashed back to join his comrades.

The first shot had been the prema-
ture discharge of a gun in the hands
of a nervous guard, who had fired be-
fore the raiders had reached the spot
where the men lay in waiting.

This, coupled with the fact that the
stone wall behind which the guards
were concealed, was on a stretch of
ground sloping from the road, caused
5ie later volley of shots fired on the
raiders to speed harmlessly overhead,
while the raiders' answering fire was
quite as futile.

The latter had been quick to respond
to their unseen assailants, and had
pressed on, reassured by the first sin-
gle shot, but when met by a deter-
mined volley, the captain gave orders
for a hasty retreat, quickly realizing
that the band had ridden recklessly
into an ambush, and that the odds
were greatly ap^inst his men.

As the raiders turned, the advance
rider dashed back to join them. Sev-
eral bullets sang a keen note of dan-
ger as he galloped by, but he was un-
scathed.

A little beyond the gate one of the
riders fell, or was thrown from his
horse, which seemed to stumble, then
quickly regain his feet, and, riderless
now, dashed along the road after the
retreating band.

As Milt came up, he suddenly
checked his horse at the spot where
the accident occurred, for the fallen
man had risen to his feet, and was
sorely in need of succor, since his horse
had taken flight without him.

As he stood in the road, a dark
shadow on a light background, seem-
ingly dazed and uncertain what to do,
Derr pulled up alongside, and bracing
himself in his stirrups, leaned forward
and cried hurriedly, "Leap up behind
me!"

The man quickly obeyed, though
clumsily, for his right arm appeared to
be of little service to him, but with
the mounted man's assistance he man-
aged to climib up behind, and throw
one arm around his deliverer, then
both men bowed low over the saddle,

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

yet not a moment too soon to avoid
a parting volley fired at the two on
the fleeing horse.

"The rest rid off an' left me, but
you risked your life to take me up,"
muttered Steve Judson, as they gal-
loped on through the night. "Milt
Derr, I promise y6u I won't forget to-
night."

"That's all right; hang on!"

CHAPTER XVI

The lurking shadows along the stone
wail suddenly grtv/ into animated
forms, and the silence was brok-
en by excited speech. The raiders
faded as quickly into the night as they
had come, while the faint echoes of
retreating hoofs betokened a rapid
flight of the band toward the hill coun-
try.

"Have we bagged any game?"

The guards hastily scrambled over
the rock fence after a parting volley
had been sent after the last retreating
horseman, who had tarried a brief
while in his retreat, and each guard
was eager to find an answer to the
leader's question.

"One man fell or dropped from his
horse, I'll swear to that," the sheriff
made reply, looking along the gloom
of the road with expectant eyes. "We
must surely have wounded one of
them. It cannot have been a total loss
of lead."

"No, for I'm hit," a voice made the
doleful assertion out of the darkness
farther along the fence line.

"Hello! Scott! Is that you? Are
you much hurt ?"

"Shot in the shoulder."

"Is that so?" asked the sheriff con-
cernedly. "I'll look after your case at
once. Anybody else hurt ?"

"I believe a bullet went through my
hat and grazed my skull" — this a sec-
ond voice tinged with grave anxiety.

"If so, it probably flattened the bul-
let," was the unfeeling remark of a
companion.

The girl from the toll-house ap-
peared just then on the platform — a
gudden apparition, startled of face, and

with a hand that shook perceptibly as
she carried an old tin lantern.

"Is anybody hurt?" she anxiously
inquired.

"A wound in the shoulder of one of
our men ; nothing serious, I hope," and
the sheriff came forward to reassure
her.

"And the raiders — what of them?"
The girl's query was hastily made.

"One fell from his horse, but we
can find no trace of him. He seems
to have escaped. Lend us your lan-
tern," the sheriff added; "perhaps he
crawled off into the weeds."

"Here's a hat I found in the road !"
The words came from an excited
guard.

"Fetch it to the light!" This from
the sheriff.

The guard obeyed. As the hat was
held close to the light of the lantern,
which the girl held obligingly over the
rail, the men crowded around, eager to
examine the one trophy of battle.

"There's blood on it!" some voice
exclaimed. "We must have wounded
one of the rascals at least. Likely he's
in hiding now, close by."

"Lend us your laijtern. Miss Sally."

The sheriff reached out for it, but
before his fingers closed over the han-
dle, the girl's nervous hand suddenly
relaxed its hold, and the lantern fell
to the hard bed of the pike. The glass
in the sides shivered as it struck, while
the candle rolled out and was quickly
extinguished in the white dust of the
road. The girl became the picture of
consternation.

"Oh!" she cried, "just see what I
have done !"

"Perhaps it's the sight of blood. It
makes some folks grovf faint."

The sheriff spoke consolingly, pity-
ing the girl's embarrassment, and cov-
ertly regretting the accident.

"I'm all upset!" acknowledged the
pretty toll-taker frankly. She looked
it, seemingly so innocent the while, one
would scarcelv have suspected the ac-
cident to have been hastily planned by
woman's nimble wit, in order to g^in
yet more time before a further search
could be made for the wounded man.

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

177

When the hat was held uo to the
light, the girl recognized it almost in-
stantly as one Milton Derr was in the
habit of wearing. He had worn it
that very day when he passed through
the New Pike gate. Its recent dis-
covery by the guard, and the fresh
stains of blood upon it, now filled her
with sudden terror and consternation.

Was Milton Derr among the raid-
ers ? The hat was a silent witness to
the fact Had her lover been wound-
ed ? The blood stains eave conclusive
evidence. Was it possible that Milt
had ventured back with the raiders in
the very face of the warning Sally had
given him? Why had he risked so
much ? Ah I was it for her sake? She
asked herself this with a sudden glow
in her heart, set aflame by her lover's
devotion, and a quick resolve was
formed to aid him in his present
strait.

.Many perplexing thoughts arose.
Why had he not in turn warned the
raiders as she had expected him to do?
Perhaps he had done so, but without
avail. Could they have ignored the
warning, or have forced him to come
back with them? Possibly he came of
his own accord to be of whatever as-
sistance he could in the face of danger
that threatened the inmates of the toll-
house. The girl was in a sea of grave
perplexities and conflicting thoughts.

The voice of the sheriff close at hand
broke into her bewildered train of
thought and recalled her abruptly to a
sense of her surroundings.

"Miss Sally ! I have stepped on the
piece of candle and broken it. Can
you get me another?"

"Yes, certainly ; 111 go at once," she
answered hurriedly, glad to escape into
the toll-house, where her mother was
busied htmting bandages with which to
dress the arm of the wounded man.

"It seemed as if I'd never be able to
find another piece of candle," said the
girl in apology when she finally came
out after quite a little search. "My
wits have left me completely — I'm
dazed."

"Hadn't you better leave the hat
with m^?" she asked with affected in-

difference as the sheriff and his posse
started' off with the light to look for
the wounded raider along the road.

"I might as well do so;" then, as
he was about to comply, the sheriff
added on second thought, "no, I'll take
it along to shield the candle from the
wind, now that the lantern glass is
broken."

At the spot where the hat had been
picked up the searchers found some
dark splotches sprinkling the dust of
the pike, as if blood had fallen there,
but the owner of the lost hat was no-
where to be found. The men searched
carefully some distance along the way,
and closely examined the patches of
dusty weeds in the fence comers, but
without reward.

"I am positive one of the raiders
carried him off," insisted the guard.

"But for Gregory getting excited
and firing before the raiders had got-
ten in close range, we would certainly
have killed or captured some of them,
perhaps have bagged the whole band
by closing in upon them from each
end of the road. This comes of hav-
ing green recruits," the sheriff added
grimly.

When the posse had gone with the
lantern, Sally went once more into the
house and began to assist her mother
in caring for the wounded guard, but
the girl's thoughts were far from be-
ing centered on the object of her pres-
ent skill and care, and she listen^'!
momentarily and with growing anx-
iety for additional news concerning the
owner of the lost hat.

Could it be that it was not Milton's,
after all ? She felt almost positive that
she had made no mistake in regard to
its ownership, and she had suggested
the leaving of the hat with her that she
might give it a closer scrutiny and sat-
isfy herself on this point.

If the hat were really Milton Derr's,
on the under lining, inside the band,
was his name and hers, both done in
red ink, along with an arrow-pierced
heart, and the date on which the names
had been written — September loth.

There had been a little picnic on
this date. She and Milton, along with

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Sophronia and her beau, and a few
others, had gone for an outing up in
the hills. The usual rain that invaria-
bly and maliciously awaits such gath-
erings suddenly came up, and the party
had taken shelter for a time in the old
schoolhouse in Alder Creek glen — ^the
veiy log building where Sally's first
girlish fancy had been captured by
Milt's dark eyes and ruddy face. Here,
as a stripling, he had fought battles
for his lady love, and Jade Beddow
had sought in vain to supplant him
in her affections.

While the picnic party had waited
for the rain to abate, Milt had usurped
one of the children's desks, and writ-
ten the two names on the inner lining
of his hat-band, covertly showing the
result of his skill to Sally.

If these names should be discovered,
and discovery was imminent, it would
clearly fasten the ownership of the hat
on Milton Derr, even if no one could
identify it otherwise. She felt a grow-
ing eagerness to get possession of the
hat, and tear out the tell-tale lining,
yet she dared not betray her anxiety,
lest it arouse suspicion and hasten the
discovery she would gladly avert.

In the midst of her uncertainties
and fears she caught sound of Squire
Bixler's voice outside the toll-house.

He had hurriedly put on his shoes
and great coat, and ridden over to the
gate to learn the results of the fight
between raiders and guards, prudently
waiting, however, until the firing had
ceased; and he had heard, with deep
disappointment and regret, the retreat-
ing hoofbeats of horses galloping to-
ward the hills. Despite the sound, he
hoped that one raider at least had been
left behind.

The Squire's chagrin was poignant
when he learned that not a single mem-
ber of the band had been either killed
or captured, and that the sole spoil of
battle, on which he had so largely
counted, was but a g^ay felt hat,
streaked with blood, that had been
picked up in the middle of the dusty
road.

"By heaven!" cried the Squire
wrath fully, when this single trophy

was shown him, "111 find the owner of
that hat and punish him, if it takes
every detective in the state to help me
to do it."

CHAPTER XVII

The morning following the exciting
experiences of the raiders' attack and
repulse at the New Pike gate," soon
after the clearing away of the break-
fast dishes, Sally, on the alert, caught
sight of Squire Bixler's buggy coming
over the hill, the loose side-curtains
morning breeze like the wings of some
idly flapping to and fro in the fresh
bird of ill-omen. Indeed, she felt, on
seeing the vehicle, that its very ap-
pearance presaged evil, if not to her,
at least to one very dear to her.

Usually she let her mother open the
gate to the Squire if his coming was
noticed in time for an avoidance, but
this morning she made it convenient
to be out on the platform, sweeping
away industriously, when he drove up.

"Good morning. Miss Sally ! I sup-
pose you are quite glad to find your-
self alive, and with the toll-house roof
still over you."

"Yes," she answered promptly,
"glad and grateful, too !"

"What brings you out so early this
morning?" she asked, smiling pleasant-
ly on the Squire as she raised the gate
which had so fortunately escaped the
raider's axe the night previous.

"Business," answered he with em-
phasis, "important business. Before
the day is over, I hope to have a war-
rant served on the owner of that hat
which was picked up last night. If I
can get only one of the rascals caught
and safely jailed, it will not be such a
difficult matter to ferret out the rest
of the gang."

"Have you discovered an)rthing
more?" asked Sally, trjring to disguise
the anxiety in her tooes as she made
the inquiry.

"Nothing definite, although there's
one man among the guards who thinks
he can identify the hat. I'm taking it
to town now to show to the merchant
that probably sold it."

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The g^l's heart sank within her at
the words. It would be little short of
a miracle if the tell-tale names were
not found and the hat's ownership
revealed.

While the Squire was. speaking,
Mrs. Brown came out on the platform.

"Let me see that hat," she said. "It's
likely I may know the wearer myself.
I was so busy last night attendin' to
George Scott's arm that I didn't do
more than glance at the hat."

The squire handed out a package
done up in a piece of newspaper,
which Mrs. Brown opened, and taking
the hat held it up at arm's length,
perched on her outspread fingers, view-
ing it critically, her head slightly
askew.

"I've seen that hat before," she said
thoughtfully; "now who was a-wear-
in' it?"

"There's likely a hundred such hats
in the county," interposed Sally
quickly. "I've seen a dozen or more
myself."

"No, you don't see so many of these
light gray felts," avowed her mother,
bringing the hat nearer. "Mebbe it's
got a cost mark, or the maker's name ;
that would tell a body more concemin'
it."

She turned the hat upside down and
looked carefully at the lining.

"Let me take it into the house and
brush some of the dust off it," inter-
posed Sally hastily, fearing every mo-
ment that the hidden names would be
revealed, under her mother's inquisi-
tive scrutiny.

"No! no! let it be, just as it is," said
•the Squire, perchance put on the alert
by Sally's manner, and suspicious of
her ill-concealed desire to get the hat
in her possession.

"Look here! what's this on the un-
derside of the lining of this band?"
asked Mrs. Brown, as she ran her fin-
gers around the inside of the crown,
and pulled down the lining. "It looks
like writing, only it's red," she added,
squinting her eyes after the manner of
one whose vision has b^^ to fail.

At tfiat moment Sally felt as though

she fairly hated her mother's prying
nature.

"What is it, SaUy ?" asked her moth-
er ; "your eyes are yoimger than mine."

The girl, after a careless glance, but
with a sickening sense of fear taking
possession of her as she recognized the
arrow-pierced heart and the two names
written underneath, answered in as
calm and collected voice as she could
command, "It lodes like streaks of
blood."

She 'partly averted her face as she
spoke, for she felt that her mother or
the Squire would read in her very eyes
the secret she- was striving to hide.
There was no longer a doubt of the
hat's ownership. It was Milton's Derr's
beyond all questioning, and the dis-
coveiy of his name and hers written
therein was now but a matter of brief
delay, as the Squire's next words
seemed to indicate.

"I'll have it closely examined when
I get to town. It will not be a hard
matter to locate its owner, I think."

"Would you mind giving me a seat
to town?" asked the girl suddenly, be-
set with a new resolve.

"Certainly not." The Squire was
plainly tickled. "I'll be only too glad
of your company," he said, smQing
genially.

"What's goin' to happen?" asked
Mrs. Brown wonderingly. It was a
new mood for Sally.

"I've just thought of something that
I've got to do, an'd if the Squire'U take
me sdong with him, it'll save me the
trouble of saddling Joe. I'll be ready
as soon as I get my cloak and hat,"
added she, disappearing in the house.

"Humph!" exclaimed Mrs. Brown,
looking first after her daughter, then
at the Squire. "This looks a little as
if Sally was comin' to her senses at
last."

"Just give her a little time, my dear
madam, a little time," advised the
Squire, smiling all over his fat, red
face. "She'll come around all right by
and by."

When the Squire and Sally drove
off, she seemed lost in thou^t, and
only answered in monosyllables to her

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companion's gallant attempts to be
agreeable.

''What's, the matter, Miss Sally?"
he asked at last^ piqued at her silence
and indiflference. "You act as if you
might be in love," he added with a
jocose look.

"Perhaps I am," acknowledged Sal-
ly, turning the full battery of her pret-
ty eyes upon her companion, until his
pulse quickened as it had not done in
years. He made an effort to speak, but
the words failed him, and he only
edged a little closer to her. For a
wonder, she did not attempt to draw
farther away. Was she really coming
to her senses, as her mother had pre-
dicted ?

"Do you remember the ride we took
a few weeks ago, an* what you said to
me ?" she asked slowly, and with avert-
ed eyes.

"My dear, I have thought of little
else, I do assure you," answered the
Squire promptly, suddenly finding
speech, now that the dazzling battery
was withdrawn.

"Well, I have thought a good deal of
it myself of late," admitted Sally
thoughtfully. "You profess to think
a lot of me, but I expect you would
refuse me the least little favor I might
ask of you."

"Have you usually found me a hard-
hearted old skinflint?" asked the
Squire reproachfully.

"Fve never put your kindness to a
very great test, as yet. I thought 1
would begin with asking a little favor.
You wouldn't refuse me that now,
would you ?"

The girl looked up smiling into the
old man's face, and brought all the co-
quetry at her command into play.

"What is the favor?" asked the
Squire shrewdly. "I never like to
make a promise till I know what I'm
promising."

"It's about the smallest possession
you have, and the one least valuable
to you."

"Well, what is it?"

"I want the hat that wa^ oicked up
last night."

"Hum — m — m!" said the Squire

meditatively. "In what manner does
that hat concern you ?"

"How it concerns me, does not ccwi-
cem you," retorted the girl promptly,
with an arch glance.

"I don't know about that What-
ever concerns you, concerns me deep-
ly, ducky!"

"Will you give me the hat?" persist-
ed Sally.

"You fear it will be recognized?"
ventured the Squire, and the girl
winced under the words. "Well, it
will be, before I've done with it Of
course I know it's that rascally Milt's
hat," added the Squire shrewdly fol-
lowing up the clue the girl's manner
and request had given him. "Haven't
I seen him wear it, time and again?
He had it on Court day," hazarded the
speaker.

He noted the quick start his com-
panion gave, and the look of fear that
overspread her face and crept into her
eyes. A sudden thought occurred to
him. He was now in a better positicm
to strike a bargain than he soon would
be again.

"Now, suppose we put this matter
on a strictly business footing," he said
blandly. "You want the hat and I
want a wife. A fair exchange is nt>
robbery."

"Don't say that!" exclaimed Sally,
as though a sharp pain had suddenly
entered her heart. "You are cruel!"

"Not in the least!" retorted the
Squire. "It's you that's cruel, my
dear! You have it in your power to
make me the happiest of men, and in-
cidentally keep a friend of yours out
of the penitentiary. The whole mat-
ter rests with you."

The girl made no answer.

"The case stands thus," he persisted.
"If my nephew is a lawbreaker, he de-
serves punishment. As I am president
of this road, and a large stockholder,
too, and he's doing his utmost to in-
jure and destroy my property, I fail to
see why I should show him any sympa-
thy or favor. If I do, it will be solely
on your account, not his. It's up to
you whether Milt goes free or is pun-
ished."

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"On just what conditions will you
let him go free?" asked the girl quick-
ly.

"On your promise to marry me."

"Oh, no!" she cried sharply, "not
thatr

"Just that," msisted the Squire.

"And if I don't promise?" she asked
in a low tone.

"It puts him in a place where you
can't marry him," answered her com-
panion promptly.

They drove on in silence until the
edge of the town was reached.

"Here we are in town," the Squire
said. "Shall I drive you to the sher-
iff's office with me?"

"Why are you going there?" asked
his companion faintly.

"To give up this hat and swear out a
warrant for its owner."

"Don't go!" pleaded Sally.

"It all rests with you as to whether I
go or not," replied the Squire, his
bold, unpitying eyes bent full upon
her. "Milt can either be a free man
or a felon — which shall it be?"

His eyes were fixed on hers in a
concentrated gaze that seemed to fas-
cinate her like the gaze of the wily
serpent charms the ensnared bird.
There was a confused buzzing in her
head, a thousand small voices crying
out, "Save Milt! Save Milt!" Her
very power of will appeared to be ebb-
ing away. She saw only those hard,
unyielding eyes, she heard only those
inner voices crying out in her lover's
behalf.

"Ill promise!" she faltered.

"When?" asked the Squire.

"I don't know, some of these days,"
she cried desperately, quite at her wits'
end.

"That's too indefinite," insisted her
companion. "S'pose you marry me a
week from to-day?"

"Oh! no! no! not that soon! Give
me a little more time," she pleaded.
Something would surely come to her
aid, if she gained time, she knew not
what. A wild thought came into her
head that perhaps she might yet nm
away with her lover. At all events, a
delay would give him time to get
away, whether she went or not.

"Two weeks, then," said the Squire
slowly, "no longer."

"Well," she said faintly.

"Then you'll agree to marry me?"

"Yes," she answered recklessly.

"Two weeks from to-day?" he in-
sisted.

"Yes," she answered again, her
voice dropping almost to a whisper.

"All right ! A bargain's a bargain !"
cried the Squire gleefully. "I'll drive
to the sheriff's and tell him I lost the
hat coming to town."

"Give it to me!" asked the girl
eagerly.

"Oh, no, my dear, not yet!" he an-
swered, with a grimace, thrusting the
bundle into an inner pocket of his
great-coat. "I'll just keeo it next to
my heart as a reminder of your prom-
ise. I'll give it to you the morning
of our wedding — as a token of love
and affection," added he with a
chuckle of satisfaction.

CHAPTER XVIII

A larger number than usual of pos-
sible customers and evident idlers were
gathered at Billy West's country store
on the Tuesday morning following
Court Day, discussing the latest news.

The building was a small one-room
frame, set in an angle made by the
Willis Mill dirt lane and the New
Pike, an ideal spot for an exchange of
news, often bordering on gossip, and
a convenient halfway resting place for
those homeward bound, or else on
their way to mill or town.

The proprietor's small stock of mer-
chandise consisted of a heterogeneous
collection, well suited to the needs of
the locality, and ranging in variety
from knitting needles, for the indus-
trious matron at her fireside in the
IcMig winter evenings, to plow-shares,
which her sturdy spouse might grasp
when the soil demanded tilling in the
spring. The varied mixture of farm-
ing implements, groceries and clothing
presented the appearance of having
been deposited by some friendly pass-
ing whirlwind, for the owner was of
far too sociable a nature to devote
much time to "stock-keeping."

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When an article was wanted, it gen-
erally had to be hunted for, unless it
chanced to fall under the immediate
range of vision of salesman or cus-
tomer, while the crowded shelves and
counters presented a bewildering ar-
ray of tinware, glassware, patent medi-
cines, clocks, trimmed hats, chums,
gaudy neckwear, cheap clothing, mock
jewelry, hair-oils and colored per-
fumes put up in glass bottles of se-
ductive shapes, along with sundry ar-
ticles great and small necessary to the
needs and adornment of the people of
the surrounding country.

It was not for lack of time that Billy
allowed his stock to fall into this
chaotic confusion, for he had much
leisure on his hands, but, as I have be-
fore remarked^ he was of a sociable
nature, and usually spent his spare mo-
ments tilted back in a well-worn chair
under a locust tree, if the weather was
warm, indulging in neighborhood
news, or else was engaged in an ex-
haustive argument with his circle of
solons as to how the government
should be properly run.

If the season necessitated shelter, the
usual coterie removed its sittings to the
rear of the store, while .'uring the rig-
orous winter months checker-pla3ring
afforded amusement, the board being
of white pine, home-made, in alternate
inked squares, and the checkers of
black and white horn buttons supplied
from the general stock.

On the morning I have mentioned,
the air was yet cool from a frosty
night, but the sun shone brightly, giv-
ing promise of speedy warmth, as the
day advanced, and the little company
chose the sunlight, being sheltered
from the breeze by the front of the
building, which faced the east.

Moses Hunn, an old stager, was
descanting on the previous night's
raid, having first borrowed a chew of
long-green tobacco from his nearest
neiehbor. Moses was an inveterate
chewer and had been relying on his
friends for tobacco for the last twenty
years.

"Yes, sir, they say them night-riders
fit like wild cats."

'The guards didn't seem to be of
much use," interposed Billy.

"They were pretty good at stopping*
bullets," Moses averred. "Ge<M^
Scott was shot three times in the leg
an* twice in the body, I heard, an'
four T)ullets grazed Joe Waters'
skull."

"It must be bullet-proof," a voice in-
sisted.

"The news is they've shot one of the
riders, too. Leastways, blood was
found on the pike, an' also on a hat
one of the raiders dropped."

"Any of you wearin' new hats this
mornin'?" asked Billy with an affect-
ed show of inspecting the head-gear
of the crowd.

"I noticed Mose limpin' as he come
up," a voice declared.

"Mose has been drawin' a pension
for that same limp for a good many
years past, so I don't think the guard's
can be charged with that'^ affirmed
the storekeeper.

"Well, folks seem bent on havin'
free roads," remarked the owner of
the limp, as he sighted a knot-hole
in a box near by, and, with the aim of
a practiced chewer, adroitly sent a
squirt of tobacco juice through it.

"Yes, an' I'm mightily afraid folksTl
have the worst of the bargain when
they do get free roads," answered Bil-
ly, with a dubious shake of his head.
"We won't have no such good roads
as we've got now."

"Free roads'll make dead agin
you, Billy," insisted Mose. "I'm not
blamin' you for not favorin' 'em, for
when folks can go to town, an' it not
costin' 'em a cent, of course they're
goin' so you'll lose many a good nickle
that now drops in your till."

"How did the sheriiSf get wind of
the raid?" asked Billy, dianging an
unpleasant subject.

"There must be a traitor."

"Lordy ! I wouldn't care to be in his
shoes if they ever find him."

"They'll find him all right enough."

"An' swing him, high as Haman."

"Surel"

Along in the evening, soon after
sundown, Billy West closed his store

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THE NIGHT RIDERS

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a full half-hour earlier than usual, and
went to his boarding house, not a
great distance away. A little later he
might have been seen cantering down
the pike on his chestnut filly, arrayed
in his best suit, and wearing the red-
dest and most conspicuous necktie his
stock afforded, while the oily smooth-
ness of his locks, and the odor of cheap
cologne that hung persistently about
him, announced the fact that he was on
pleasure bent To one acquainted with
the state of his affections, it was an
easy matter to guess that old man
Saunders' was his probable destina-
tion.

This proved to be the case. Only
the day before he had made an engage-
ment with Sophronia to escort her to
the New Pike gate, where she was to
spend the night with her bosom friend,
Sally, then go on to town the next day
to do some shopping.

"I scarcely knew whether to come
for you or not, after what happened
last night," said the cavalier apologetic-
ally, when he reached Mr. Saunders',

"I couldn't have blamed you, if you
hadn't come," declared Sophronia
frankly. "Is it safe to go?" she asked
in sudden perplexity.

"I don't think you'll be disturbed to-
night, after the failure the riders made
last night There's an old sayin' that
lightnin' seldom strikes twice in the
same place."

"But night-riders may," insisted So-
phronia.

"I doubt it Even if they should
come, they wouldn't want you. I real-
ly don't know of but one person that
does," Billy added with an engagingly
meaning look.

"I could name half a dozen, at
least," retorted Sophronia, with a co-
quettish toss of her head, as her cava-
lier assisted her to mount.

Sally was most glad to see her visi-
tors, for she earnestly hoped through
Sophronia or her beau, at least, to
learn something of Milton Derr —
whether there were any rumors of his
being hurt, or if either of them had
seen him since yesterday. If not, it
augured ill for the owner of the blood-

stained hat which had been picked up
in the road near the toll-house.

Finally, when her mother had gone
out of the room, Sally hurriedly asked
concerning the young man, and on
learning that he had not been seen, she
added that she had an important mes-
sage for him, and asked Billy to tell
him so within the next day or two, if
possible.

That night in the privacy of her
room, and under a promise of the
deepest secrecy on Sophronia's part,
Sally confided to her bosom friend the
besetting fear that Milt had been
wounded the night before.

"Try and see him for me. If he's
much hurt, let me know at once, but if
he isn't, tell him to leave here as quick-
ly as possible, that he is strongly sus-
pected of being a raider, and to go
away before any arrests are made. Tell
him to go at once."

"How did you find out about the
night-riders coming?" asked Sophro-
nia.

"Through Squire Bixler. He's got
a spy that's keeping him posted, and,
I believe, this spy told him they would
come last night."

"How do you know there's a spy?"
asked her friend thoughtfully.

"I overheard him talking to the
Squire one day when I was hid behind
the stone wall that runs along the
pike," and straightway the girl related
the^ whole occurrence to her friend.
"It's a hatched-up plot between the
Squire and this man to get Milt into
trouble," she added in conclusion.

"Didn't you see who the other man
was?" asked Sophronia, beginning to
connect this fact with some other cir-
cumstances in her mind, as links are
added to a chain.

"No, I was afraid to peep over the
fence for fear they might see me."

"Could it have been Jade Beddow?"

"No, I would have known his voice.
It wasn't him, I'm certain of that.
There was something about the man's
voice that held a familiar sound, as if
I had heard it before, but I can't place
it"

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**Do you think you would recognize
it if you should hear it again?"

"Yes, Vm sure I should."

"Then I b'lieve I can run that spy to
the ground," said Sophronia decisive-
ly. "I believe I know the man, an' the
place where he's buried the money he
got for telHn' on the raiders."

"You don't say!" cried Sally, in
open-eyed wonder.

"Yes," answered her friend imoul-
sively. "You go back with me to-
morrow noon, when I come from town,
an' I'll take you to the very spot, an'
show you the very man."
[To be continued]

THE MAN WITH THE PIGS

By Medicus Ransom

THE young man in the flannel
trousers, the blue shirty and
the Panama hat stopped be-
low the vine-clad piazza, and
uttered a low, musical whistle. Then
he looked expectantly upward, but
there was no response save the sud-
denly insistent clicking of a type-
writer beyond the screen door. Again
the young man whistled. The click-
ing became louder and faster. The
tasks of the operator were evidently
arduous this morning. A shadow df
impatience passed over the young
man's brow as he dug a hole in the
soft earth with the small end of his
oar, but he continued to whistle.

"What do you want?" The tone
was that assumed by busy housewives
toward book agents or census takers.

The young man looked up quickly.
The clicking had ceased, and a young
woman was leaning over the vine-
clad banisters. The blackest quality
of black ink smeared the ends of her
small, white fingers, and a formidable
scratch tablet, which might very easily
have been left inside, was held con-
spicuously in her hands. A frown of
disapproval and imrelenting impa-
tience only served to lend an addi-
tional piquancy to her saucy beauty.

For a moment tlie young man con-
templated the wonderful effect of the
summer morning sunlight on the fine-
spun hair of the ambitious authoress.
She in turn was struggling to main-
tain a business-like frown in spite of

the boyish tanned face looking up at
her.

"Oh, a great many things generally,
and one thing in particular," was the
deferred answer.

"Please be more specific Doubt-
less you have observed that I am en-
gaged." The authoress turned the
pages of the tablet ostentatiously.

"Yes. That is just why I stopped.
However, I felicitated the Professor
on my way down. I believe he de-
serves all the congratulations." For
the moment the thick pad appeared in .
danger of being appropriated as a mis-
sile, with the young man's head as
target.

"If you've only stopped to tease, I
must tell you I haven't time to waste,
as some of my friends seem to have,"
said the authoress indignantly.

"Yes, some of them do waste a heap
of time. I noticed the Professor re-
clining in the hammock with his palm
leaf this morning," replied the inno-
cent loiterer.

"If I were really going to be idle I
think I should choose that quiet way
rather than spending all my energy on
a tiresome boat in this August sun,'*
The young woman spoke in a careless
tone and looked longingly toward the
deep mountain stream beyond the
meadow.

"Then you really won't join me for
a glide to Boiling Spring? Well, as
the Spencer girls are in town to-day,
I'll have to make out alone. Perhaps

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THE MAN WITH THE PIGS

'85

this box of bonbons will sweeten soli-
tude/' The tempter drew from his
generous pocket an alluring white box
tied in tinsel cord. For a moment the
axiflict between literary ambition and
temporal delights was plainly in the
balance^ but the former gained head-
way.

"Perhaps it will, but I cannot af-
ford to lose more time now. The cli-
max in 'The Voice of the Wild Wind'
had just been reached when you whis-
tled, and there is nothing which so
robs an author of inspiration as in-
terruption."

"Oh, then I am 'the man with the
pigs,' and you are going to profit by
Coleridge's example. Was it 'Chris-
tabel' or 'Kubla Khan' which he was
writing when the 'man with the pigs'
interrupted him, and deprived the
world of the completion of a master-
piece?"

"Yes; you're 'the man with the pigs,'
but I sha'n't allow you to haul me ten
miles across country and break into
my work; so good-bye."

The authoress disappeared beyond
the screened door, but instead of re-
suming her seat before the t)rpewriter
immediately, she peeped through the
window at the hearty young batman
swinging his oar as he vanished down
the hill toward the river.

"He does not play the role of de-
jected suitor at all properly," said the
genius of "The Voice of the Wild
Wind" to herself as she entered again
upon the stirring climax.

The long hours of the sultry morn-
ing dragged on, but the clicking of tlic
typewriter was somewhat spasmodic,
and the "Voice of the Wild Wind"
had died down rather abruptly. The
fur-coated, black-bearded hero had
been strangely transformed into a
clean-shaven, tanned young man in
flannel trousers, blue shirt, and Pana-
ma hat. . The plaintive moaning of the
wind was mingled with a melodious
whistle, and the gold-headed cane of
the angry sire was nothing more than
a long oar. Inspirations of two dis-
tinct kinds were in conflict, and one
of them was rapidly outdistancing the
other.

Beneath the cool shade of the syca-
more tree a young man lay dreaming
— day dreams. The water lapped
against a securely fastened boat A
box of bonbons, whose wrappings of
tinsel were untouched, lay in the grass
near by. Down the hillside a young
woman, whose fine-spun hair was
shaded by a broad-brimmed hat, was
approaching.

"I thought you were boating," she
called in a surprised tone.

"And I thought you were writing,"
was the jovial reply.

Her air of affected surprise van-
ished. She took off her hat and sat
down beside him, looking smilingly at
the swift current.

"Then I am 'the man with the
pigs,' " said he, reaching for the bon-
hm. box and untying the tinsel cord.

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NIGHTS WITH GHOSTS

II— A LIMBERSOME SIGHT
By William McDonald Goodman

'^HUT dat tale 'bout
^ dem boys drappin'
^ dey ole cripple dad-
% dy?" Aunt Martha
% inquired, after Uncle
^ Adam had succeeded
^. in describing satis-
factorily the manner
in which he would
run if he should
chance to meet the
Black Giant Ghost.

*'Dat's hit, dat's hit," he replied.
"Dat ve'y tale des show how er pus-
son'll do when dey git skeerd, ha'nt er
no ha'nt. Dat ole man 'uz one er dese
Yankees whut nuver is heerd 'bout no
sich things. I 'members one onc't
whut cum down Souf, en when de
white fo'ks here tell him dat de nig-
gers sees ha'nts he 'low dey ain't got
no bizness er 'skuze'n de niggers er dat
kinder foolishness— des like white fo'ks
down here ain't live long 'nuff 'mungst
'em to know what dey talkin' 'bout
betler'n whut dey do. En dat ain't
all. You show me er white pusson
whut's been raise up whar dar's nig-
gers on de plan'ation, en I'll show you
er white pusson whut is seed er ha'nt
Dat's de Gawd's trufe, ef it eber b'en
tole. Dis y'er Yankee whut been raise
whar dey ain't no niggers ner ha'nts,
come down here en tell de white fo'ks
dis, but he went 'possum huntin' wid
some niggers one night, en he ain't
sayd dat sence."

"Dey run'd ercros't er ha'nt?" she
asked.

"In co'se'n dey run'd ercrost er ha'nt.
Is you uver heerd uv er passel er nig-
gers gwine 'possum hunt'n' 'd'out find-

in' simip'n' else 'sides er 'possum ? Ef
you is, I ain't. Dem niggers dis time
seed one, en de white man seed it,
too, en he de fo'mos' uv de lot g^ine
fer home. Dem kinder fo'ks'!! I'am
sump'n' 'bout niggers whut dey don't
know ef dey cum down here en cir-
kerlate deyse'ves roun' ermongst 'cm
erwhile. I'l! leave it to de crowd.
You cain't find nairy ole-timey nigger
in de country whut ain't seed Ita'nts,
en mighty few uv de young 'uns.
Ain't dat so?"

"Yes, Lawd! I Icnow dey heap er
lies tole Iwut ha'nts, lak dey is 'bout
eb'rything else mos', but dar's ha'nts
all de same," Aunt Martha replied.

"In co'se'n dey is. I know dat," he
agreed. "Now dis ole cripple man
whut ye ax 'bout, he didn't b'leevc in
sich things, en he tole his two sons ef
dey uver run'd ercrost one fer ter come
en take him dar en let him see it He
hadn't been able to walk in seb'n
year, en all dat time he lay in bed and
hatter be fed wid er spoon. He knowed
he couldn't go nowhar, en he tell his
sons ef dey uver see a ha'nt fer ter
cum en take him dar ter see it, too,
kaze he nuver did b'leeve in 'em. Dat
whut he tell 'em, en one night dey run
in de house en say dat dey pass er
graveyard en seed er ha'nt settin' on er
toomstone eat'n' chestnuts, er sump'n'
en he make 'em take him on dey
shoulders en go dar wid him.

"Now, de ha'nt whut his sons seed
in de graveyard wa'n't no ha'nt. Hit
seem lak three white men went out
dat night to steal er sheep. Two uv
*iim v.ent alter de sheep, en one stop
in (le graveyard en wait fer 'um ter

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NIGHTS WITH GHOSTS

187

cum back wid it en butcher it dar
whar nobody wuz likely ter see 'um.
Dat 'un whut stop in de graveyard
tuck er seat on er toomstone en sot
dar eatin' chestnuts, en he de ha'nt
whut de ole man's sons see. He sot
dar, he did, waitin' fer de res' ter
cum back wid de sheep, en he see de
boys totin' de ole man on dey shoul-
ders en he thought dat *uz dem. He
look en see 'um, he did, en he call out :

"'Fat er lean?' — meanin' de sheep.

"When he holler dat de ole man's
sons say, Tat er lean, you kin have
him,' en dey drap dey daddy en split
fer home.

"Genterm^wj, dat ole cripple man
whut hadn't walk nairy step in seb'n
year er mo' pick hisse'f up f'um dar
en 'uz de fus' pusson inside de house
when dey reach de do'."

"I'se heerd dat tale mo' times," said
Aunt Martha. "Skeerd to def en no
ha'nt dar nuther. Dat po' ole man!
I des laugh en laugh I Lawsy,

To«»cY I*'

"His laigs wa'n't no good befo',"
said Uncle Adam, "but dey cum ter
dey senses when de boys drap 'im dar
whar he thought 'uz er ha'nt. Genter-
mens, I tells you er thing er dat kin'
is er pow'ful limbersome sight I
know. Time en time ergin is I run'd
ercrost things en des walk out fu'm
under my hat en leave it hangin' in de
air. 'Bout de wus' I 'uz eber skeerd,
'skuze'n de time me en Big Joe en
Bayliss struck up wid dat ha'nt ober
yander at de little rock house, 'uz one
night I cum long fu'm town en pass
de spot whar Mingo 'uz hung at.
'Member dat place? Lawd, Lawd! I
bet you ef I libes to be ole ez de hills
dey ain't nothin' uver gwineter git er
faster move on me dan whut I had
right along dar."

"Dennis say he 'uz dar en seed dat,"
she said.

"Dennis tolc you er lie," he ob-
served "I'll tell you 'bout whut all
he seed dat night Dat nigger nuver
got to de place, 'oman. All he know
Txwit dat ha'nt 'uz what he figgered
out in his h^id fu'm de caper I cut.

Wait, wait, hoi' on, do, en lemme go
back to de fus'.

**01e man Dennis wa'n't 'long wid
me dat time. I went ter town atter
some 'visions one Sat'day night, en
had er quarter sack er flour en er lot
er bundle? en one thing er 'nuther to
fotch back, en some de wimmen fo'ks
started him out ter meet me halfway en
he'p me tote *um. Dey know'd de
road I 'Uz comin' back, kase I b'en
dat way befo' — but nuver is sence.
Dey sent him out ter meet me ha'f-
way, en de place, you know, whar
Mingo 'uz hung, is des 'bout dat fer
betwixt home en town. Dis is 'bout
de spot whar we oughter met at, but
Dennis, he fool 'long de road en didn't
git dar. I wush he had — I wush he
had — consoun' his ole skeery times!
I started back wid de flour on my
shoulder en all de res' de things in er
sack, 'cep' er jug er 'lasses, whut I
belt by er string in my han', en I 'uz
feelin' pow'ful like stoppin' en restin'
when I reach dat holler whar de gal-
lus stood, but instidder dat I sorter men'
my gait ez de place make me feel skit-
tish. I sorter men' my gait, I did, en
step up pearter, en all uv a suddent I
heerd sump'n' nother pop en rattle en
I look up, en ef it's de las' thing I uver
says, dar stood de gallus, en under it
er man's body 'uz er hangfin', des
'zackly like it des drap, swingin' roun'
en roun'. Good-bye, flour! We got
sum uv it de nex' mawnin' whar de
sack bus' open on de groun', 's well
ez my hat, whut 'uz layin' right smack
in de spot whar I to' up de groun'
makin' my fus' jump. I belt to de
'lasses jug, kaze it 'uz tied wid a
string to my wris', but I struck it 'gin
er tree en re'ch home wid des de han-
dle en de string. I didn't drap de
y'uther sack, fer why, I dunno. Hush
yo' fuss ! You uver seed er toad frog
wid er black snake atter him? Well,
suh, dat's des liken unto de motions
I made. You uver see er mule run
away ? Dat's 'bout how fas' I went-^
maybe a little fas'er — I spec' I did.
Now dis is whar ole Dennis come in.
He 'uz pokin' long down de hill to'dci
de place, but er long ways too fer off

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ter see anything. I heerd somebody
wheel roun' ez I lit out up de hill, en
do' I run same ez er bird fly, I nuver
got no closter to him, en could des
hear who-uver it wuz tar'in' de road
up ahead er me. Gentermens, when I
got in sight de house I seed somebody
fall ober de fence en go in de do', en
when I done de same, dar stood ole
Dennis er blowin' en he say, 'Wha —
whut you ninnin' f'lun?' "

"De Law !" Aunt Martha exclaimed,
"whyn't you ax 'im whut he runnin'
f'um?"

"I did. I ax 'im dat, en he say he
heerd me er-comin' en he know'd dey
'uz sump'n' atter me. He wa'n't gwine-
ter wait twell I come up, kaze he didn't
know how close de thing 'uz pushin'
me, en whether er no it uz 'tickler 'bout
who it ketch. I tole him den whut I
seed, en I say it wa'n't noways likely
dat it 'ud leave de spot whar de man
'uz hung, en he 'low he thought 'bout
dat place 'uz de reason he nuver cum
dat fer. Shucks! Dat ole nigger
know'd he didn't have no bizness axin'
any questions twell he got home in-
side de house. I wush he'd been er-
iong dar wid me. Ef he's dat skeerd,
de sight er de thing 'ud er made him
quit de y'urth for uver mo' I"

"Unk' Adam, you right sho' you
seed dat?" she asked.

"Right sho' I seed it? Who, me?
Why, dat gallus en ha'nt wuz ez plain
ez de day de man 'uz htmg. You know
I wouldn't er drap dat flour en broke
de 'lasses jug, bid'out sump'n' pow'ful
'uz de 'casion uv it."

"Ole Dennis stick to de fac' dat he
seed it, too," she persisted.

"Ole Dennis stick to a lie. I done
tole you whut all he seed," he an-
swered.

"He 'low he seed it, en stop en
study it, en went back dar de nex'
night en look fer it again" she con-
tinued.

"De great Lawd f'um heavun I Dat's
de mos' onpossible lie dat ole nigger
uver tole yit. Why'n't you knock
him down wid sump'n' nuther? Dad-
jim his ole bow-legged soul, he know
better'n to tell me dat ! Stop en study
it — stop en study it. En went back
dar de nej/ night. Consoun' his good-
f ur-nothin' hide ! You couldn't er tied
him wid er long chain en drug him dar
atter dat, en he only hear me say whut
I see."

"Oh, you know ole Dennis," she re-
plied soothingly. "He des wanter hear
hisse'f talk, dat's all."

SONG

See, love, I give to thee a rose,

Place it 'gainst that cheek of thine —
And know the reddest flower that blows

By far is less incarnadine ;
I tell thee of a heart that's still

When thought of thee o'er memory flies —
Whose hope of thee is as a rill

Heard from afar 'mid wild-bird cries.

See, love, I give to thee a hope,

Place it 'gainst that breast of thine —
Perchance mat it may inward grope

And find thy love-stream's warmest wine :
O lute string of the inner spheres

That twangs the march of onward time.
Come ope for me my loved one's ears

And beat her ptil»e to your mad rhyme !

Satv Exion hoidifs.

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS^

By Anna Erwin Woods

[Arranged from the papers and personal memoirs of Andrew E!rwln]

CHAPTER XVn— Continued

As we went along Donald tried to
cheer and encourage him. "What's
wrong wi' ye, man ?" he said. "You're
a richt-mmded man. Ma word, ye've
dune your best; dinna be cast doon,
laddie; sooner or later, there's nae
doot ye're bound to g^e us the road
out."

After some time spent in examining
the neighborhood, the poor fellow dis-
covered a spot which he perfectly rec-
ollected.

"Weel dune, weel dune, laddie," ex-
claimed Donald, delighted. "You're
a goot laddie, and this iss a prood
mcwnent for ye; and an awfu' relief
to us all to ken ye're na mair anxious."

It certainly was a relief to us all that,
in having his innocence established, we
were assured of being on the right
road. None rejoiced more heartily
than Gordon and myself, and others,
who, like us, had been willing only a
short time before to condenm him to
be hanged. But we were already be-
ginning to learn that our commander
was not a man to be influenced by rash
judgments.

It was on the evening of July 4th
that we arrived within a few miles
of the town, where we lay until dark,
when our march was continued. We
took possession of a house which was
on the opposite or westerly side of the
Kaskaskia river. Here we learned that
the militia had, a few days before, been
under arms; but no cause of alarm
having been discovered, they had been
disbanded, and everything was quiet.
We were also told that there were a
great many men in the town, but the
Indians were mostly gone.

^Beinin in Uie May issue.

Having procured a sufficient number
of boats for transportation, two divi-
sions of our force crossed the river,
with instructions to repair to different
quarters of the town. Gordon went
with one of these while I remained
with Colonel Qark with the third di-
vision, which was to take possession
of the fort on this side of the river,
in point blank shot of the town.

It was agreed that if our detach-
ment met no resistance, we would
make a given signal, and then the other
two parties would, with a shout, take
possession of certain portions of the
town. As soon as this should be ac-
complished, they were to send persons
who could speak French through the
streets, to give the inhabitants notice
that every man of the enemy who
should appear in them would be shot
down. All these arrangements had
the most complete success. A hunt-
ing soldier, whom he had taken pris-
oner the evening before, showed us a
postern-gate left open on the river side
of the fortifications. We entered by
this, and the fort was taken. The
town was surrounded, every avenue
guarded to prevent communication,
and, in about two hours, the inhabi-
tants were disarmed without one drop
of bloodshed. Rochblave, the com-
mandant, was taken in his bed-cham-
ber; but, by imposing upon the deli-
cacy of our men, his wife managed to
screen or destroy his public papers so
that none of them were secured, Bet-
ter that, however, we thought, than
that our good name should be tar-
nished by insult to a woman.

I did not meet Gordon until after
midnight when, at the first moment we
were alone, he exclaimed :

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THE TAYLOR. TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

"By Jove I Ned, I have already had
an adventure, and I have played
knight-errant to the prettiest girl you
ever saw in your life; and she has
the sweetest way of talking French
that was ever heard from human lips.
It's worth while taking this long march
just to hear her say, *Ah, Moitsieur, je
vous remercie de tout mon coeur/
and looking up with her great, dark
eyes in a way to reach one's soul, it is
entirely different and causes an entire-
ly different kind of feeling to having a
girl saying in plain English, with a
straightforward look, *I thank you, sir,
with all my heart.' I've heard that
many a time and it never made me feel
as though I wanted to go down on my
knees."

"Well done, Gordon!" I exclaimed
in reply. "Not yet six hours in Kas-
kaskia and you have already made love
to a pretty girl. There's certainly truth
in the old saying about faint heart
never winning fair lady. By all that's
daring, I do believe that faintness
of heart will never make you lose a
chance of winning. But, tell me, how
did such a vagabond as you fall upon
this good fortune, while better men
are sitting here not even daring to
dream of such eyes as you have been
looking into?"

"It would be going beyond the truth
to say that I have already made love to
her," said Gordon, in a tone of voice
which showed the regret which this
admission caused him. "All I can say
is that I felt as though I wanted to."
"Very well, let's have the story
then," I ur^ed. "I'm sure it will only
go to prove that you take advantage
of your opportunities, where a more
bashful man might not turn them to
his purpose."

"Well, you know," said Gordon,
"we heard that these people had been
taught by the English to believe that
we are more barbarous than the sav-
ages; and Clark wishes this delusion
to be kept up so long as it answers
his purposes. I am sure my appear-
ance is calculated to aid him in his
undertaking to inspire terror." As he
spoke, he drew himself up to his full

height, looking down at the costume
in which he had made the march ; and
as he stood before me, I thought that
any woman would pronounce him in
her heart, if not with her lips, a mag-
nificently handsome fellow.

Not giving expression, however, to
my admiration, I said : "I think it is
likely your looks are rather more cal-
culated to terrify than to attract ; un-
less you should meet some one who
can discover your real worthiness, in
spite of your present appearance."

"Stranger things have happened,"
he said with a grimace. "However,
I'll return to my story. Clark com-
manded, you know, that the town
should be patrolled with the utmost tu-
mult, the troops whooping after the
Indian fashion ; and the result of this
was that the terrified inhabitants have,
some hours since, sought the shelter
of their homes, preserving the most
profound silence. Now, it was this
blessed order of Clark's which brought
me good luck.

"As a squad of our men were pass-
ing, whooping in the wildest manner,
a torch borne by one of them threw
a bright light on two female figures, a
short distance in front of us. I could
see plainly that one was an elderly
woman and the other a young girl,
who seemed to be frightened and try-
ing to hide themselves. As I advanced
quickly toward them, the elderly one
exclaimed; *Mon Dieu! Mam'selle
Adrienne, c'est un de ces barbares!
Le miserable '

" 'TaiS'toi,-Nannette/ said the young
girl, 'peut-etre '

Hoping to relieve their terror, I
walked forward rapidly and spoke
in French.

" 'Pardon me, Mademoiselle, but I
perceive that you are alarmed by the
presence of our soldiers. Will you
permit me to escort you to a place of
safety?'

" I thank you. Monsieur,' she said,
speaking also in French ; 'my home is
very near.'

"Seeing that our way would be quite
dark, I called to Donald to come to us
with a torch: and, thus escorted, the

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS

191

young lady aiid her companion reached
their home much sooner than suited
me. I should have been greatly
pleased to have allayed her fears as to
what the inhabitants are to expect from
us; but In deference to Qark's de-
sire to overwhelm them with the ter-
ror of our supposed ferocity, I would
not do that. I contented myself with
making every effort to impress her
with a conviction that there is one
American who is not a barbarian."

"I do not doubt your success," I re-
marked. "I can picture your gallant,
gentle deference as you allayed the
fears of the trembling fair one."

"You may truly say fair one," said
Gordon, with warmth; "for, as I was
bidding her good night, and she was
speaking these words of thanks which
I repeated to you, just at that very
moment Donald threw a bright stream
of light from his torch upon her, and
I saw in her eyes such a beautiful look
as I have never seen in eyes before in
all my life."

He seemed to be in deep thought for
a moment, and then added : "As sure
as my name is Charlie Gordon, I will
see that girl again before the next
sun goes down."

The morning of the 5th (the day
following the entrance) found us in
absolute possession of everything ; and
our troops were withdrawn from the
town to different positions around it.
All intercourse was forbidden between
the inhabitants and the soldiers under
penalty of heavy punishment; and
even those persons who were sent for
by Clark were not allowed to have
communication with the rest.

"How are you going to do about
finding your charming mademoiselle ?"
I asked Gordon when he learned of
these strict orders.

"I am going to find her, and talk
to her, too," was the quick reply, "if
Clark has me shot for it."

Information was soon given to our
commander that M. Cerre, the princi-
pal merchant of Kaskaskia, and who
was then in St. Louis, was an in-
veterate enemy of the Americans, had

done all in his power to incite the In-
dians to commit depredations upon
our settlements. M. Cerre's family
and an extensive assortment of his
merchandise were in Kaskaskia, and,
early on the morning of the 5th,
Clark gave orders that seals should be
at once placed upon his property and
a guard around his he use.

"I don't see why the commander
should not have sent you, Ned, to
execute these order about M. Cerre's
affairs," said Gordon to me, evidently
in a bad humor in consequence of hav-
ing been instructed to attend to the
business. "I have been dreaming
about Mademoiselle Adrienne, and can
think of nothing else but trying to find
her."

But in a few hours he come to me
in quite another state of feeling.

"What do you think, Ned?" he
called out in a jubilant tone, and with
the most exultant manner. "The
most splendid good fortune in the
world. By all the heathen gods, I am
convinced it is in following straight
the path of duty that we fmd happi-
ness! What do you say to that fine
sentiment, Ned?"

"What marvelous thing has hap-
pened to awaken you to such an ap-
preciation of all this high-sounding
principle?" I asked.

"What has happened," he answered,
"is that there exists, just now, the
most delightful condition of affairs
that you could ever dream of. Only
listen to my story and tell me if it does
not sotmd like a fairy tale. Made-
moiselle Adrienne Soularde is a niece
of M'me. Cerre, and at the present time
a member of her family; and I have
been instructed by the commander,
as you well know, to strictly guard
that family. I shall most zealously
discharge my duty. I will live, if nec-
essary, I will die at my post."

"Certainly, Gordon, I fully under-
stand now the happiness which is to
be found in following the path of duty.
But," I inquired, "have you seen her
to-day? and do the glances from the
dark eyes of la belle Adrienne touch

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THE Taylor -TkOTwoob magazine

your soul as powerfully by daylight
as when Donald threw the brilliant
light of his torch upon them ?"

"Indeed, they do," he exclaimed tri-
umphantly. "She is so dignified and
charming that I admire her more than
ever. Two of M'me. Cerre's children
are quite ill, and their mother does not
leave them a moment ; so, when I pre-
sented myself at the house, it was
Mademoiselle Adrienne who received
me. You may imagpine my delight
when I realized the situation of af-
fairs. I made known to her the in-
structions I had received, expressing
the hope that the presence of our guard
would cause the family no annoyance.
Don't you envy me, Ned ?"

"Of course I do," I replied with
great gravity. "You will have the sat-
isfaction of being envied by every man
of the detachment, even by the com-
mander himself, no doubt."

Without listening to my words, Gor-
don resumed the story of his adven-
tures. "The elderly woman who was
with her last night is the children's
nurse, and she has been the nurse of
Mademoiselle Adrienne herself, whose
mother is M'me. Cerre's sister. Dur-
ing my interview with Mademoiselle,
Nannette came into the room, and
when I left the house, having placed
Donald on g^ard duty, I recommended
him to Nannette's kind attention. She
said to me: 'I will do dad, M'sieur;
eef you wand I spick Eenglis wid eem.'
Between Donald's Highland Scotch
and her Illinois French English, they
will probably have difficulty in com-
ing to an understanding."

After the removal of the troops the
citizens had been allowed to walk
around freely; but finding that they
entered into conversation with each
other, orders were issued to arrest and
put in irons several of the principal
militia officers. No reason was as-
signed for this action, nor was any
defense allowed to be made.

The consternation was general, and
the minds of all were filled with terri-
ble and gloomy anticipations for the
future. Finding themselves power-
less in the hands of an enemy whom

tlicy had been taught to look upon as
monsters of wanton cruelty, only the
worst consequences could be appre-
hended, and they gave themselves up
to despair.

The first time Gordon went to M'me.
Cerre's after this order had been is-
sued, Donald met him and sadly shak-
ing his head, said, "The puir lassie iss
in sair tiibble, sair tribble, Maister
Charlie." Then he whispered,
"Weesht, weesht, the young leddie iss
comin' oot ; it iss herself will be comin*
oot to meet you, Maister Charlie."

Having seen Gordon approach the
house, Mademoiselle Adrienne had not
waited for him to enter, but had come
forward in haste to meet him. The
pained expression upon her face and
the agitation of her manner showed
plainly the distress and excitement
from which she was suffering.

"Monsieur," she said, addressing
him, as she always did, in French, "my
aunt sends me to you with a message.
You kindness to us causes her to feel
that she will not in vain appeal to you
for any help which you can give us.
My Cousin Pierre has been arrested
and put in irons." At these words, no
longer able to control herself, she
burst into tears and sobbing as though
her heart was breaking, cried :

"Ah, Monsieur, what have we done
to merit this cruel treatment? We were
in the power of the English and we
obeyed them. They told us such mon-
strous things of the barbarity of the
Virginians that we were terrified when
you came. But you. Monsieur, have
been gentle and kind to us, and we are
grateful to you. In our hearts we are
ever giving you thanks. Now, this
dreadful news has reached us that our
friends are imprisoned and in irons,
and we are in despair. We know not
what misfortune may come to us. We
are at the mercy of your commander."

You may well understand how ten-
derly Gordon's heart was touched by
the sight of this lovely girl in such
distress and that he offered her all the
consolation in his power. Promising
to leave no effort untried to effect the
release of her cousin, he came asxjuick-

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*93

ly as possible to Clark's headquarters.
Not t^ing able to see Colonel Qark,
he found me and, with the greatest ex-
citement, related to me what had oc-
curred at M'me. Cerre's.

After expressing a great deal of in-
terest and sympathy, I said: "I do
not believe, Gordon, that you can ac-
complish anything in this matter.
Clark is inflexible in his determinati6n
to inspire these people with terror.
No one knows so well as he does what
a dangerous position we are in. He
has brought us up here, a handful of
men — ^less than two hundred of us —
and now, here we are hundreds of
miles from our friends, separated from
them by a wilderness full of blood-
thirsty savages, and all around us
thousands and thousands of hostile In-
dians under British influence. I am
not trying to make the picture any
darker than the truth, and I am not
dreading the result. I have absolute
confidence in Qark; but we must all
give him unquestioning obedience."

"But," argued Gordon, "these
French people do not seem inclined to
do us harm, and now they are being
treated in the most severe manner."

"I know," I replied, "that these
measures seem very harsh ; and I be-
lieve that no one regrets more than
the commander does that he is com-
pelled to adopt them. He is certainly
a kind and affectionate man in his na-
ture; and I am convinced that to be
compelled to use such harshness to-
ward an unoffending people must be
a terrible trial to him. He is influ-
enced by the feeling that our safety de-
pends upon it. He must establish a
most absolute authority over the
French, for you know the Indians love
the French and would be greatly in-
fluenced by them. However it may
be, Gordon, you must see as I do, that
our cmly hope is in Qark. I feel as-
sured that your ccwifidence in him is
is as great as mine."

In fact, these severe measures adopt-
ed by Clark did succeed in establish-
ing his authority more fully than if he
had been a less dreaded commander
of a very large force; and he many

times, in after years, has told me that
I was correct in my judgment that to
be forced to use such harshness to-
wards an unoffending people was, in-
deed, a severe trial to him.

It was soon after this conversation
between Gordon and myself that per-
mission was granted to the priest of
the village, accompanied by five or
six elderly gentlemen, to wait upon
the American commander.

I was in the room when they were
admitted into Colonel Qark's pres-
ence, where he was sitting surrounded
by his ofiicers. As his plan was to
make himself and his followers ap-
pear as savage and as frightful as pos-
sible, the abrupt and harsh manner
adopted and their clothes torn and
soiled by the march accomplished this
purpose.

The Frenchmen did not speak un-
til their business was demanded. As
there was nothing to indicate any dif-
ference in rank among the men who
received them, their first question was,
"Which gentleman is your command-
er?" Upon being told, the priest ad-
dressed Clark in these words:

"The people of our village, expect-
ing to be separated never to meet
again, ask permission to assemble in
the church to take leave of each
other."

Suspecting that they thought their
Roman Catholic religion would be ob-
noxious to us, Clark replied: "We
have nothing to say against your
church ; that is a matter which Ameri-
cans leave for every man to settle
with his God. The people may as-
semble at the church if they wish ; but
if they do, they must not venture out
in the town." Upon the gentlemen
of Kaskaskia attempting some fur-
ther conversation, they were repelled
by telling them there was no leisure
for further intercourse.

The whole town assembled at the
church where they remained a con-
siderable time. The strictest orders
were given and enforced that during
their absence, no soldier should enter
the deserted dwellings. The priest,
accompanied by the same gentlemen,

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THE TAYLOR . TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

again waited upon Colonel Qark to
express, in the name of the village,
their thanks for the indulgence they
had received.

The deputation then begged leave
to address their conqueror on a sub-
ject which was dearer, to them than
any other. The priest, being again
the spokesman, said:

**We are sensible that our present
situation is the fate of war, and we
can submit to the loss of our prpp-
erty; but we solicit that we may not
be separated from our wives and chil-
dren, and that some clothes and pro-
visions may be allowed for their sup-
port."

Being satisfied that their terrors had
been wound up to the desired height,
and that lenity might now be shown
with good results, Clark determined
to lay aside the cruel harshness which
only his dangerous circumstances had
forced him to adopt.

Abruptly addressing the deputation,
he said : "Do you mistake us for sav-
ages? I am almost certain you do
from your language. Do you think
that Americans intend to strip women
and children, or take the bread out of
their mouths? My countrymen dis-
dain to make war upon helpless inno-
cence. It was to prevent the horrors
of Indian butchery of our own wives
and children that we have taken arms
and penetrated into this remote
stronghold of British and Indian bar-
barity, and not for the despicable pros-
pect of plunder.

"The king of France has now united
his powerful arms with those of
America; and this war will not, in
all probability, continue long. The in-
habitants of Kaskaskia are at liberty
to take which side they please with-
out the least danger to either their
property or families. Their religion
will not be any source of disagree-
ment; for all religions are regarded
with respect in the eyes of the Ameri-
cans. Any insult which should be of-
fered to your religion will be immedi-
ately punished.

"To prove my sincerity, you will
please inform your fellow-citizens that

they are at liberty to conduct them-
selves as usual, without the least ap-
prehension ; and your friends who are
in confinement shall be immediately
released. I am now convinced from
what I have learned since my arrival
among you that you have been mis-
informed and prejudiced against us
by British officers."

You may well conceive the joy of
. the village seniors upon hearing these
words spoken by the American com-
mander. They attempted some apolo-
gy for the implied imputation of our
being barbarians, under the plea of
the property of the captured town be-
longing to the conquerors. Clark dis-
missed them in order that they might
immediately relieve the anxiety of
their friends; but before permitting
them to go, he said:

"I shall shortly publish a proclama-
tion and shall require a strict com-
pliance with its terms."

Upon learning the generous and
magnanimous intentions of their con-
querors, the contrast of feeling among
the people verified the sagacious an-
ticipations of Colonel Clark. In a few
moments the village was converted
into a scene of the most extravagant
joy. Perfect freedom being given
to the inhabitants to go and come as
they pleased, the church was crowded
with people offering up thanks to God
for their deliverance from the hor-
rors they had so fearfully expected.

During all those days of anxiety
and trouble, Gordon had been faith-
ful and constant in his devotion to
the family of M'me. Cerri. The chil-
dren had recovered from their ex-
treme illness, and their mother could
now absent herself from them. Gor-
don had seen her frequently, and she
had most gratefully acknowledged the
courteous kindness which he had
shown towards her family. She sym-
pathized in the general feeling of re-
lief and joy which now prevailed
throughout the village; but her un-
easiness was very great about her hus-
band, who was still absent in St.
Louis. Now that Clark felt that his
authority was fully established in Kas-

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kaskia, his next anxiety was about
Cahokia,'^ a place of some importance
sixty miles higher up the Mississippi
river, and immediately opposite the
town of St. Louis. We had heard that
a considerable body of Indians lay in
the neighborhood of the British fort
of Cahokia, and Clark determined to
take possession of it, if possible, in the
same way that Kaskaskia had been
taken.

Gordon, coming to me hurriedly one
day and appearing to be quite excited,
said: "Ned, I don't like to seem like
a coward and object to going on a
march, but I was terribly disappointed
just now when Bowman told me that I
was to go with him to Cahokia."

"Is Major Bowman going?" I
asked. "I had not heard who was to
be sent"

"Yes," replied Gordon; "Bowman
is going with a detachment, and he
told me that some of the Kaskaskia
gentlemen had offered to go with him.
I intend to see Mademoiselle's cousin,
Pierre Cerre, and ask him to go. He
and I are very good friends. He
knows I tried to help him when he
was imprisoned."

"I think you are pretty good friends
with all that family," I called to him
as he left the room.

Later in the day Gordon told me
that Pierre Cerre had decided to go
with them. Cerre was a captain of
militia, and Clark had arranged for
their own officers to command the
French party, which mark of confi-
dence greatly pleased them. Of
course, it was hoped that the French
company would have influence with
their friends and relatives in Cahokia
to prevail upon them to entertain the
same feeling towards us which they
did; and, in fact, this was of great
assistance in making the success of Ae
expedition perfect Major Bowman
took possession of the British fort
amid the huzzas of the people for the
Americans ; and the Indians who were
encamped there dispersed.

»Now

8t. Lovls.

CHAPTER XVIII
The Cerri Family

I had been instructed to take Gor-
don's place at M'me. Cerre's during his
absence; and he gave me a thousand
directions as to the care I should take
of the family, every member of which
I found, entertained for him a most
grateful feeling. He had been so
good to the sick children that they, as
well as their mother, seemed, indeed,
to love him, as did also their faithful
nurse, Nannette.

I could not speak French at all flu-
ently, and the ladies spoke but little
English; but I was not discouraged
in regard to our conversing together
intelligibly after having observed a
conversation carried on between Don-
ald and Nannette, during which, in
spite of all difficulties, they arrived at
some kind of mutual understanding.
Nannette showed by many kind atten-
tions the gratitude felt by the family
to Donald as well as to Gordon ; and
Donald said to me, "Nannette iss fery
ceevil."

One day I heard her say to him:
**Mon Dieu! il fait chaud aujourdhui
— dis day hot — . Eef you pliz, you
drink doze milk."

As Donald took the milk, he said:
"Ye hev a gude hert, Nannette, a rael
gude hert. Ye gie me a glass o'
milk, but when ye talk I dinna under-
stand ye noo."

Turning to me, he remarked : "Sic
a landgidge ye've niver hceard a' the
days o' yir life." But with his honest
nature, fearing he had not been just,
he continued : "I know my landgidge
iss not fery goot for Nannette to un-
derstand. What iss wrong with my
speakin' iss that my mither wass Scot-
tish; but my faither wass Heiland-
man, and when I wass a wee laddie I
wud be always sayin' some words like
my faither."

"Thad ces veree funnee," said Nan-
nette, trying earnestly to understand
Donald's "landgidge," which gave
me, at times some difficulty to inter-
pret. After looking puzzled for a mo-

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THE TAYLOR *TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ment, she added in a tone of sympa-
thy, "No personne no spick lak thad ;
but you say id thad way eef you wand
doo."

Donald was very fond of the chil-
dren and would do all in his power
to amuse them; but he had been too
strictly brought up in the theology of
the Free Kirk of Scotland not to fear
the insidious approaches of the evil
one, and to pass judgment upon the
kindly promptings of his own heart.

One day, when he had been indulg-
ing himself by making the children
happy, he said to me : "I wass juist
sayin' to Nannette that it iss temptin*
o' Providence to mak' idols o' the
bonnie bairns ; but a'm dootin' it's a'
sair lesson to learn na to do it." And
he looked tenderly at the children as
he spoke.

"Thad ees troo," said Nannette,
judging, I presume, rather more by the
expre3sion of his countenance than by
his words ; and taking one of the chil-
dren in her arms, she spoke caressing-
ly. "Ah I Mignonne, lilF darlin' chile.
Pauvre, jolie p'tite, no papa. Papa no
cum see hees lill' chile."

"Puir lassie," said kind-hearted
Donald to the child ; "I will be think-
in' it 'ill nae be lang till your faither
'ill came awa' hame to see the bonnie
baimies."

"Thad goot God He know all dem
tings," said Nannette. With her ten-
derness for the child there seemed to
be aroused in her a strong feeling of
resentment against the accusers of M.
Cerre and giving expression to this,
she exclaimed :

"Ah! thad goot God he mague eet
more wurz fur doze bad man, 'oo-
ever ee iz' w'at say thad thing 'boud
M'sieur Cerri. Comment! M'sieur
Cerre, he eez de bez man w'at God haf
mague; doze udder man dey tell dem
lies Txmd eem. Eef thad thing wa'd
dey say 'boud eem ees troo, I tell you
den wa'd ees troo, pas la lune— ^lee
moon not ees een de sky." Loyal and
true and with a heart full of sympa-
thy, good Nannette continued: "Et
pauvre Madame, she feel so bad —
doze bad man wa'd mague sum troubl'

to 'er 'uzban; an' n6boddie able do
nuttin fo"er, exzeb de goot God
eesev."

I was well aware of the great un-
happiness of M'me. Cerre; and she
had several times spoken to me of the
uneasiness felt by M. Cerr^ in conse-
quence of his separation from his fami-
ly. He was fearful of entering into
the power of the Americans without a
safe-conduct, and had taken every
measure to procure that. He had se-
cured recommendations from the
Spanish governor at St. Louis, and
also from the commandant at St. Gene-
vieve, supported by the influence of
the greater part of the citizens. These
papers, at the request of M'me. Cerre,
I had myself handed to Colonel Qark.
All this, however, was in vain. Clark
refused to listen to any such applica-
tion. He said :

"M. Cerre is a sensible man ; if he
is innocent of the charge of inciting
the Indians against the Americans, he
need not be afraid of delivering him-
self up. This backwardness upon his
part only increases the suspicion
against him."

I repeated these words to M'me.
Cerre, and she communicated them to
her husband. Immediately upon their
being repeated to him, M. Cerre came
to Kaskaskia and, before even visiting
his family, waited upon the American
commander.

Colonel Qark received him with
these words : "The crime with which
you stand charged is that of encourag-
ing the Indians in their murders and
devastations upon our frontiers. I re-
gard it as a sacred duty, laid upon all
civilized people, to punish sudh vio-
lators of honorable warfare whenever
they can get them within their power."

Upon hearing this accusation, ac-
companied by this expression of stem
determination upon the part of the
man in whose power he was, M. Cerri
frankly replied:

"I am a mere merchant, and I have
never concerned myself in affairs of
state beyond what die interests of my
business have required. My rensole
position has prevented my understand-

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ing the merits of the war now raging
between Great Britain and the United
States, her former colonies. I desire
to support the strictest inquiry into the
heinous charge made against me. I
defy any man to prove that I have en-
couraged Indian barbarities, while
many can be produced who have
heard me deplore such cruelties. Per-
mit me, however, to inform you that
there are numbers of men indebted to
me who might by my ruin seek to
discharge their pecuniary obligations."

When M. Cerre had ceased speak-
ing, Colcmel Clark, without making
any reply to what he had heard, re-
quested him to retire to another room.
Then he sent for the accusers to be
brought before him, and they entered,
accompanied by a great many people
of the town. M. Cerre was then sum-
moned to confront them. Upon his
entrance. Colonel Clark said :

"I have no disposition to condemn
any man unheard. M. Cerr^ is now
present; and I am ready to do jus-
tice to the civilized world by punish-
ing him if guilty of inciting the In-
dians to conunit their savage enormi-
ties upon women and children."

Every one present could plainly see
the confusion which appeared among
the accusers. They began to whisper
to one another and retire, until, at last,
only one of them was left. This per-
son was asked for his proof, .and he
could produce none.

Colonel Clark then turned to M.
CerrL "Sir," he said, "I acquit you
of the charge brought against you."
It was evident to us all that these
words gave as much pleasure to his
fellow-dtizens as relief to the accused
man.

Colonel Clark then congratulated
him quite cordially and told him he
would be glad to have him become an
American citizen ; "but," he added, "if
you do not sincerely desire to take this
step, you are at perfect liberty to dis-
pose of your property and remove else-
where."

The fair and generous treatment
which he had received so favorably
impressed M. Ctrrk that soon after he

took the oath of allegiance and became
a most valued friend to the Ameri-
can cause. Throughout his life and
that of his admirable wife my friend-
ship for them both continued; and a
lady whom I have the honor to num-
ber among my friends, M'me. Auguste
Chouteau, of St. Louis, is their daugh-
ter.

As soon as I had felt assured of the
result of the trial, not waiting for Colo-
nel Clark to dismiss M. Cerri, I has-
tened to convey the happy tidings to
his wife. As I passed Donald,
who, being in full sympathy with the
family, had been anxiously watching
for my coming, he said: "I wass
thinking every meenut wass an hour ;
but I ken weel it iss a' richt. Tae see
ye cum intil the yaird, the fery look
o' ye wass sayin' it iss a gled day."

Nannette's joy was even more loud-
ly expressed. "Ah, quel bonheur!
Mon Dieu, quel bonheur! 'ow 'appy,
'ow 'appy! M'sieur, you couldn' bi-
liev' me eef I tell you 'ow 'appy
doze news mague ebryding." Clasp-
ing one of the children in her arms, the
loyal soul shed tears of delight.

Good, faithful Donald and Nan-
nette had, doubtless, offered many sin-
cere prayers to God, to the Virgin, and
to all the saints to look in pity on
this family during their days of trou-
ble, and now they were rewarded by
sharing their joy.

It was the next day after M. Cerre's
return that Gordon arrived from Ca-
hokia, bearing the dispatches from
Major Bowman. He had a tfiousand
questions to ask Mademoiselle Adri-
enne, and I said to him, jestingly :

"I have been teaching her E^lish,
and this is just the hour that I am to
give her a lesson. You can go with
me and listen to us."

"By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I call
that cool impudence. I left her in
your charge while I was gone, and
now that I am back again, I propose
to see her as quickly as I can get there,
with or without you, but as Made-
moiselle Adrienne and I always talk
French together, it may be dull to you
listening to us."

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I had spoken in jest, but the tone
of Gordon's voice and the excitement
of his manner convinced me of what I
had thought before. There are some
men who seem to entirely lose their
reason in any matter concerning the
woman they love, and I believed Gor-
don to be one of these. Noble-hearted
and loyal as he was, still, in a moment
of eager passion, he would have shed a
brother's blood, although he was so
true and generous that, had he been
in the wrong, he would gladly have
offered his life to undo the deed.

That his heart had been given to
Adrienne, fully, honorably, irrevoca-
bly, I did not doubt. He was young,
with the daring courage and trusting
force of youth. In his veins there ran
French and Scottish blood. With the
vivacity of the children of sunny
France, he had quickly yielded, with
passionate eagerness, to the charm of
her beauty and grzct ; but with the te-
nacious strength of the Highlander, he
afterwards clung to this overpowering
emotion. With such men love may
come suddenly ; but, once it has gained
the mastery, it remains enthroned, for
good or evil as fate ordains. Adrienne
was lovely, and I counted her worthy
of his devotion. We had both seen
her under such circumstances as
showed her gentleness and also her
strength.

During a visit to M. Cerre's house
very soon after his return, I had the
pleasure of making the acquaintance
of Pcrc Gibault, the Roman Catholic
priest whom I had seen on two occa-
sions when he had his interviews with
Colonel Qark. Both M'me. Cerre and
Mademoiselle Adrienne had often
talked to me of him, and I knew he
was greatly beloved by all the French
in that whole region.

The day I met him at M. Cerre's,
P^re Gibault spoke with earnestness
of what had been said to him by our
commander in regard to religious tol-
eration. I recognized the extreme
gratification he felt in the assurance
which Colonel Qark had given that
the august Church, so belo\ed by hini-

* The present town of Vlncennes. Indiana.

self and his people, should be treated
with reverence.

I have often thought that in noth-
ing did George Rogers Clark give
stronger evidence of his remarkable
sagacity than in speaking such words
to a man so revered by the people who
surrounded us. They were wisely
spoken and a rich harvest resulted,
bearing good fruit. I spoke to Colonel
Clark of having met Pere Gibault, and
of all I had heard of his widespread
influence, not only among the French,
but even among the Indians. Be-
sides being the priest at Kaskaskia, he
was also the priest at St. Vincent's, a
British post of great importance, where
the inhabitants of the town (as every-
where else in the Illinois country)
were French Catholics.

Qark well knew the importance of
this place, and I have heard him many
times, in after years, say: "St. Vin-
cent's* was never out of my mind."
After listening to what I had to tell
him, he instructed me to call upon
Pere Gibault and say to him that he
requested an interview with him.

Through Clark's wonderful insight
into human nature, this conference led
to a marvelous success. He com-
menced by opening up to Pere Gibault
his plan of a military expedition from
the Falls of the Ohio against St. Vin-
cent's, Now, I will tell you, at once,
and you can bear it in mind, that there
was about as much hope of a rein-
forcement coming to us from General
Washington's army as there was of an
expedition from the Falls of the Ohio.

Every one of us knew well that if
St. Vincent's was ever taken it must
be done by us, as the other British
forts had been captured under the
guidance of the adroit and skillful
leadership of our commander. Clark's
action on this occasion showed that
not more by the decisive measures
which mark military genius than by
the unerring sagacity which stamps a
leader of men, did he achieve success
in executing the daring undertaking
which he had planned.

After listening most attentively to

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all that was said by the American
commander in regard to the proposed
campaign against St. Vincent's, Pere
Gibaulty the excellent patriot-priest,
moved by a strong desire to save his
parishioners from the chance of mili-
tary spoil and violence, said :

"Governor Abbot (the British gov-
ernor) is now absent from the post on
business in Detroit. I scarcely con-
sider a military expedition from the
Falls to be necessary. If it meets with
your approbation, I will take the busi-
ness on myself of bringing St. Vin-
cent's over to the American interest,
without your being at the trouble of
marching against that place." To this
offer of aid in realizing the fondest
wish of his heart, Clark readily assent-

ed; and, accompanied by one or two
companions, Pere Gibault set off for
St. Vincent's.

It required only a few days of ex-
planation between the priest and his
flock for the inhabitants of St. Vin-
cent's to throw off the British yoke
and take the oath of allegiance to the
commonwealth of Virginia. The
American flag was displayed over the
fort, to the astonishment of the In-
dians, who were told by their French
friends :

"Your old father, the king of
France, has come to life again, and he
is angry with you for fighting for the
English ; if you do not wish the land
to be bloody with war, you must make
peace with the Americans."

[To be continued]

THE HONOR OF A CAD

By Leigh Gordon Giltncr

^IVE of the party
which sat down after
the theater to a game
of cards at the club
were men prominent
in the business and
social life of the me-
tropolis. Fielding,
the sixth, might have
been termed a proba-
tioner. He had
"come out of the West" less than a
year previous, bringing letters to the
Dra3rtons, whose introduction was suf-
ficient to insure his calling, if not his
election, to the inner circle of the niost
exclusive set. It wanted only offi-
cial confirmation of his rumored en-
gagement to Constance Drayton to
render his position absolutely assured.
The men grouped around the taWe
were much of a type — the type one
meets with in the more exclusive met-
ropolitan clubs — well bred, well
groomed, and with a certain indefina-
ble air of distinction about them. If
any one of them had been asked, he

would probably have answered that he
played for amusement solely, without
any reference to the financial aspect of
the game. The stakes were not high,
though now and then enough money
was wagered on a hand to make things
interesting.

As the game prc^essed, the luck
began to trend pretty steadily in one
direction, but as Fielding was uni-
formly successful in his play, no one
gave the matter thought until Drexel
(rather an adept at cards) chanced to
see or fancy he saw an action which
served to confirm certain suspicions
which had lately intruded themselves
upon him. The play went on quietly
luitil the deal again fell to Fielding,
when Drexel quietly rose and turning
to Bourke, who sat opposite, said
carelessly :

"Change places with me, Reggie,
will you ? I'd like to break my luck —
it's beastly poor to-night!" — ^and
Bourke promptly complied. The deal
went round a second and a third time
and still Fielding's luck stayed with

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOt) MAGAZINF-

him. The game progressed without
incident, and Loring, who cared little
for cards, was beginning to be a trifle
bored, when suddenly, as Fielding was
helping his hand in a jackpot, Ward
Drexel bent forward with a swift
movement and before the hand could
be withdrawn had pinned the five cards
to the table. Fielding went ghastly
white ; three of the other men gasped
and waited in mute astonishment for
Drexel's explanation ; the fourth, who
sat at the dealer's right and, like Drex-
el, had carefully watched his play, was
instantly alive to the situation and in-
wardly felicitating himself that the dis-
closure had not devolved upon him.

"When the cards were cut," began
Drexel, still covering the hand and
looking squarely into Fielding's eyes,
"I caught a glimpse of the bottom
card. It was the queen of hearts. In
helping your hand just now, I saw
you slip a card from the bottom. It
is the uppermost one of these cards
which I prevented your taking up. If
it does not prove to be the queen and
if It does not improve your hand, I
will apologize to you and the other
gentlemen present and resign my mem-
bership. If it is the queen, I shall in-
sist that you leave the club."

"I had the queen of hearts in my
hand on the start," faltered Fielding,
white to the lips. "I held it at the
first and I did not draw from the bot-
tom of the deck."

Drexel set his teeth.

"The card you drew is the top card
of the five on the table," he said quiet-
ly, "If it is the queen of hearts, you
did not have it in your hand. I saw it
distinctly at the bottom of the pack.
Vandiver, will you oblige me by fac-
ing that card ?"

There was a breathless hush, in the
midst of which Vandiver bent forward
and turned the card in question face
upward on the table. It was the queen
of hearts! The remaining four cards
were also hearts, and the queen com-
pleted a flush.

The tense silence lasted a long mo-
ment Then Vandiver rose and quiet-
ly closed and locked the card-room

door. Fielding sat quite still, breath-
ing heavily. Four men, stem, shocked,
accusing, confronted him. Loring, the
fifth, did not look toward him.

Explanation ensued. Fielding, at
first, vehemently denied the ugly
charge against him, but under Drexel's
unflinching gaze and unwavering tes- ^
timcmy, he presently broke down.

"Well," he said at last, "since you've
got me in a comer, I might as well
own up. I did fake the queen as Drex-
el charges and I haven't been plajring
on the square for a month past. I lost
heavily at Sheepshead and Saratoga
last summer and in the effort to recoup
myself for these losses I've been buck-
ing the stock market ever since — ^with
the result that I'm quite at the end of
my resources. This thing b^^ one
night four weeks ago when I was
playing with Carter, Oelrichs and Lo-
ring here. I'd learned out West to
stock the cards a bit, and as I sat there
with just ten dollars between me and
destruction, the temptation to put the
knowledge into practice assailed me.
I left the table that night the win-
ner by fifty dollars. After that it
was easy — descensus Avemi, as we
used to say at college." He stopped a
moment with a pitiful attempt at a
smile, then went on quickly, "I've
cheated various members of diis club
out of sums ranging anjrwhere fnMn
five to fifty dollars — ^and I fancy Lo-
ring, with whc»n I've played oftenest,
is out a pretty steep sum. Now you've
got the story. That's all there is to
it The question is. What are you go-
ing to do about it?" He spoke in a
dull, lifeless tone, utterly at variance
with the bravado of his words. It was
almost as if the shameful recital were
impersonal and a matter of indiflference
to the narrator.

For answer, Drexel rang for paper,
pens and ink. A resignation was
speedily drafted, and Fielding signed
without protest on request It then
appeared that he owed the club a mat-
ter of a hundred or so, which he ad-
mitted his utter inability to liquidate.

"Perhaps," quietly interposed Lo-
ring, who had hitherto taken no part

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THE HONOR OF A CAD

20 1

in the proceedings, "you gentlemen
will permit me to assume this obliga-
tion?*'

The other men started. They all
knew Victor Loring for a man almost
Quixotic in his courtesy to his fellows,
but that he should offer to assume the
liabilities of his successful rival struck
them as about the limit. Even Field-
ing, who sat with his head fallen for-
ward on his breast, roused himself to
look at the speaker. Something in
the glance that met his own made him
feel less a Pariah.

"I rather fancy," Drexel submitted,
"that it's up to me."

"Suppose we share the amount
equally?" Oelrichs suggested — ^and so
it was finally agreed.

Ten minutes later Dana Fielding
descended, for the last time, the club-
house steps, while the men instrumen-
tal in his expulsion sat and smoked in
thoughtful silence. After an instant's
incertitude, one of them, who had
chanced to note the expression of
Fielding^s face, rose hastily and with a
muttered excuse to his fellows, hur-
ried down the hallway Fielding was
just quitting and followed him out
into the night.

♦ ♦ ♦

"I sent for you, Mr. Loring," Miss
Dnyton was saying, "because I felt
that I might so far trespass upon your
kindness as to ask you to give me the
details of this unfortunate affair. Of
course, there are a dozen varying
stories afloat, but I want the exact
truth."

Loring did not speak, and after an
instant's pause she proceeded :

"Perhaps I should tell you that my
engagement to Mr. Fielding was brok-
en a week ago." (Loring quickly lift-
ed his head.) "But when I heard
yesterday this cruel caltunny against
him, I wrote at once to assure him
of my belief in his innocence, as an ear-
nest of which I desired that our en-
gagement should be renewed. It
seemed a cowardly thing to desert him
when he most needed me; and I felt
that I could give him and the world
no more convincing proof of my con-
fidence in hi3 int^^ty than by allow-

ing our engagement to be announced
at once."

The girl's fine face glowed with a
very passion of sacrifice — the ancient
martyr-spirit which inheres inevitably
in all womankind. Loring groaned in
spirit.

"I wrote to Dana the moment I
heard that brutal slander," the girl
pursued. "I asked no questions, I
made no investigation — ^that would
have seemed to imply a doubt of him.
But now that I have oroved my trust,
I wish to know the details of the story
— ^what they are saying at the clubs
and on the street — that I may be able
to combat it. The accepted version
seems to be that Ward Drexel detect-
ed Mr. Fielding in the act of cheat-
ing at cards; that he admitted his
guilt and was summarily expelled
from the club; that one of the men
present, whose name I did not learn,
followed him to his rooms and saved
him from suicide by a generous offer
of aid and sympathy. Will you tell
me, please, just how much — or how
little — foundation there is for all this?'*

Loring crossed to the window and
stood there for a long moment, the
better and the baser instincts battling
fiercely within him. Which way did
honor He? Should he— could he — ^tell
this girl that he had seen the man she
trusted cheat at cards? Could he
allow her to sacrifice herself to a mis-
taken sense of loyalty to a man who
was confessedly a liar and a cad ? It
was an awkward question and the so-
lution seemed far to seek. He pres-
ently turned and came back to her;

"Miss Drayton," he said quietly, "I
cannot answer your questions, and I
beg that you will excuse me from
further discussion of the subject. I
should be wholly unable to speak of
it without prejudice because — ^because
I love you, Constance I"

The girl turned a startled face upon
him.

"You love me — ^you?" she faltered.
"Do you mean to say that you — that
you "

"That IVe loved you all this while,
Constance," he finished for hen "I
love you so much that if I attempted

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

to discuss your attitude toward this
(AhtT man, I must inevitably prove
myself a coward or a cad. You must
see my position, Constance, and you
will understand that there is nothing
I can say in the matter. If I can be
of service in any other way, I shall
be very glad. Otherwise, I shall say
good afternoon."

His hand was upon the knob when
he heard his name spoken.

** Victor I " Constance whispered
trem-ilously, "Victor !" Loring turned
abruptly. "If you — if you — cared for
me," she stammered desperately, '"why
did you not tell me? Why did you
allow me to go blindly on and half in
pity, half in pique, engage myself to
another man, when — when "

"Because I'm seventeen different
kinds of an idiot, I suppose," Loring
answered, a sudden rapture beginning
to riot within him. "I never for a
moment dreamed that you "

"But I did," Constance asserted,
with a boldness that surprised herself.
"And — I do!" The next moment she
was hiding her crimson face against
Loring's breast and Loring's fine theo-
ries of honor and fair play were scat-
tered to the winds.

But the rapture was brief. Con-
stance presently lifted her face with
a sigh that was almost a sob.

"Oh!" she breathed, "if only I
hadn't written that silly letter, with its
heroics and protestations I I didn't
mean the half of it, but I let my
sympathies carry me away. And now
— O Victor! — what on earth am I to
do?"

A prompt solution was offered by
the butler of the house of Drayton who
at that moment entered discreetly to
announce Mr. Fielding. Fielding fol-
lowed closely upon the announcement
of his name. He looked wan and
worn, but his haggard eyes bright-
ened at sight of Loring.

"What luck to find you here!" he
said with a pathetic survival of his
wonted manner. "I was pfoing on to
your offices after I'd seen Miss Dray-
ton for a moment. Please don't go.
I want you to hear what I have to
say, and I'm sure Miss Drayton will

not mind. I received your letter only
this morning," he went on, address-
ing the girl, who stood looking at him
uncertainly, "and I've answered it in
person because I'm going away to-
night. I've decided to accept Loring's
generous offer" (the girl flashed a
swift glance at Loring, who flushed
consciously), "and I'm leaving by mid-
night express to connect myself with
the Western branch of Loring & Endi-
cott at San Francisco. I've decided
I haven't the courage to stay and live
it down, Loring. It wouldn't be easy,
I'm afraid, even with your help. So
I think I'll take your other offer and
go West to begin again." He turned
back to Constance.

"I want to thank you for your let-
ter," he said simply, "and to give it
back to you. I've no right to it. It
was written to an honest man. You
can't know what it meant to me —
but I've got to tell you — ^as I'm sure
Loring has not done — ^that what you've
heard of me is true. I left the club
Friday night branded a cheat and a
liar. But I'm not cad enough, believe
me, to misinterpret your sympathy. I
know that you don't care for — me ; I
know that you never did. I managed
to appeal to your generosity and play
upon your sympathies so skillfully that
I succeeded in persuading you that it
was your duty to devote your lifr to
makinc: :ne a better man — ^ doubtful
undertaking and scarcely worth the
price, I'm afraid. I was ahnost glad
when you found out your mistoke,
though I loved you, if I may say so,
as well as a worthier man might have
done. You appealed to the little good
that was in me — ^and if I don't quite
go to the bad after this, it will be due
to you and to Loring, who didn't con-
demn me in spite of my sins. Good-
bye, Miss Dra)rton. Good-bye, Lorine
— I won't ask you to shake hands —
but I hooe you'll believe that I'm not
ungrateful and try to think of me as
kindly as you can."

When he had gone, Constance stood
in thoughtful silence for a moment.

"I think he was worthy your inter-
est, Victor," she said gently, at last.
"He wasn't quite a cad, after all."

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By Stuart B. Stone

If you plow your way through the
dust straight out the Hartford road,
half a mile due west from the court-
house, and cross the railway track,
vaulting the rail fence to your right,
you find yourself on the baseball
grounds.' Furthermore, if it be Satur-
day morning, you will run upon a col-
lection of noisy, gaudy-panted boys
preparing for a game.

There is probably an infernal uproar
and clamor for first bat. The pre-
miere with the ash stick is invariably
claimed by Reddy Phelps and Jimmy
Line and Toadfrog, but Toadfrog,
freckled diplomat and born leader of
men and ball-players, just as invariably
heads the batting column. Toadfrog
lacks the inches and years of some of
the gang, but he has a way with him.

This trio forms the van of the horde
sprinting from Hill's store the moment
Jimmy sings out: "Let's have a
game!" "First bat! My first bat,"
they yelp until the grounds arc reached
and the panting, perspiring array
swarms around home plate. Then as
the bunch overnms the diamond, some
of the less assertive set forth their
claims for second and third bats and
the choicest positions in the field.

It is to be a "scrub" game, mere prac-
tice for the match contest in the after-
noon between the Stars and the Moons.
The Stars are slightly the seniors of
the Moons, but the latter, having the
rooters' S3rmpathy for the under dog,
usually prove formidable opponents.
Members of both nines are present, .
mingling, fraternizing, distinguishable
only by the color scheme of their trou-
sers.

At the psychological moment Toad-
frog settles the first bat problem by
the statement that he "said it first,"
and with an air of finality picks up the
stick. He spits upon his palms, bumps
the bat thrice against the plate and
strikes the pose he has noted and ad-
mired in the half-tones on the pink and
green sporting pages.

"Socks" Williams, pitcher for the
Stars, after a preliminary warming up
with his catcher, occupies the box.
"Socks" is to remain there for some
time while the other players move up
notch by notch as the batsmen suc-
cumb to his prowess. This is neces-
sary that his good right arm be in fine
fettle for the afternoon game.

"Right over the plate, Socksy," yells
the "ketcher." And from a hideous,
writhing contortion of adolescence
comes the leather sphere, a quarter one
purchased through general levy on the
assemblage.

Toadfrog deals the horsehide an aw-
ful swat and the ball bounds with ex-
press train speed to Skinny at short.
It is a "grass-cutter." Skinny falls all
over himself, floundering like a sea
lion, but manages to field to first. The
ball is victor over Toadfrog by a clean
two feet, but that masterful urchin re-
mains firm on the bag. "Whut you
tryin' to gimme !" he exclaims. "Beat
it a mile, huh !" Instantly there is con-
fusion and babel of tongues. The out-
field runs in to lodge vehement protest
against this high-handed proceeding.
Toadfrog, however, has handled a
thousand just such insurrections, and
while the din is most horrible, bolts
for second. There is a scramble to re-

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204

THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINK

cover positions, somebody throws wild,
and Toadfrog plunges on to the third
sack, dancing thereon in high glee.

The game proceeds. Reddy, out-
manoeuvred for first bat and accepting
second as a compromise, now ad-
vances. Reddy is a south paw, that
is to say, he bats left handed. This
calls for a general shifting of posi-
tions, the experienced fielders deploy-
ing to the left to be ready for the forth-
coming hit.

But Reddy's vision is impaired, or
his bat is hardly large enough. "One
strike!" comes shrilly from the um-
pire. "Two strikes!" ' ^' '
then one, two and ti
and hearts beat fast.
ddet it!'' shouts
Fatty at third. "Lay
for him. Buck —
watch out for a
grounder I"

Biff, like a black-
face period punc-
tuating the firma- <
ment, the ball goes
straight up in the
ether. Socks and
the masked man be-
hind the bat go for
it. Ball, pitcher,
catcher meet at full
tilt. Toadfrog
prancing nervously
on third and noting
the "fly" has been
"muffed," plunges
for home. Reddy
sits panting at first while Socks and
the catcher wage verbal warfare. "It
was my ball!" cries Socks. "You
oughter let it alone. Makes me tired I"

The belligerents calmed, the game
goes on until each man has played all
the positions and had his turn at the
bat Then the restlessness of Young
America asserts itself and the tame
sport of scrub is abandoned for the
more exciting game of "choose-up."
A ten-minute rest is indulged in. A
small boy is dispatched for water.
The larger youths produce paper and
tobacco and proceed to roll and smoke
cigarettes, while the "kids" look on in

awe and envy. Some day they, too,
may be able to do as Toadfrog and
Fatty and Red. Who knows?

A hog-mother and brood of nine
come rooting and grunting their way
across the field, and the blue-panted
Stars mingle with the white of the
Moons in mad pursuit.

There is a wrangle as to who shall
choose up. The sentiment of the gath-
ering finally resolves into a call for
Fatty and Red, and these two gentle-
men and champions step forth as the
opposing captains. Now, since brooks
ran to the sea and green g^s grew,
r of choosing up is
chooser tosses the bat
;r, who catches it in
midair. Then a fist-
stalk process of pil-
ing hand upon hand
alternately is gone
through with.
The one whose hand
i clutches the top of
the bat must be able
lonstrate his g^p by
ig the stick over his

f manages to coil a
finger and thumb
the ash and, with
ance purple and dis-
with the strain — for
Dice means possession
idfrog and probable
— succeeds in hurling
barely over his duck-
ing head.
"I'll take Toadfrog!" he pants.
Then Red denominates the second
greatest in balldom, and the boys are
singled out in the order of their ability
to slug and catch and pilfer bases, un-
til nine are chosen for each side. The
handful of rejected devotees console
themselves with mutual assurances
that they "didn't want to play, no-
how," and the game of "sides" is
on;

A decayed, homeless shingle is spit
upon. "Wet or dry. Fatty?" bawls
Red. Fatty indicates his preference for
the moistened side. The wood ascends
into the atmosphere, drops to earth and

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GObS OlF THt; DIAMOND

displays a perfect state of aridity. Red-
dy's hosts will bat first.

Fatty summons his legion around
him, and with the air of the first em-
peror assigning his marshals on the
eve of battle, details them to their re-
spective positions. Every man spits
on his hands, adjusts his flannel uni-
form trousers and settles down for
grim work. The batsmen smite vi-
ciously at the ball ; the infield crouches
tense, expectant, hands on knees; the
outfield, with less to do, throws stones
at passing live stock
and occasionally lies
prone on the sod.

By the end of the
third inning the
score - keeper an-
nounces that Fatty's
side has made 23
scores while Red's
bunch of sportsmen
have circiunnavi-
gated the bases but
18 times. The pre-
ponderance of Toad-
frog is too great.
His initiative, dar-
ing ruid moral sup-
port count heavy in
the scale. Ah, none
can stand against
ToadfrogI

In the fourth, one
of Reddy's minor
lights, valiantly un-
dertaking the captur
at appalling speed, U
bat with a sprained fi
suspended while the
the stricken comrade to tender sym-
pathy, advice and chaff. It is urged
that he rub the wounded member in
the dirt and that it be pulled vigor-
ously, while probably a dozen vile lo-
tions from druggists' shelves are
recommended. It is Saturday morn-
ing, however, and almost half a holi-
day gone. The wounded hero perches
on the rail fence feeling vastly impor-
tant with half a handkerchief wrapped
round the swollen joint. A substitute
must be provided, and a big boy, one
Henry Johnson, a member of the

Browns, the town's second team, ap-
plies for the vacancy. Mr. Johnson
grins patronizingly, and in answer to
the demurrer setting forth his size and
baseball attainments, declares he is no
expert, states he is sunburned and stiS
from swimming yesterday in Bear
Creek, and agrees to bat left handed.
The agreement is ratified after much
protesting and the umpire Calls time.
The morale of Reddy's team is some-
how greatly improved by the addi-
tion of Johnson, and in their half a
vigorous batting ral-
ly takes place.

Jimmy Line, first
man up, hits an aw-
ful grounder right
down toward Fatty,
reposing on the ter-
tiary bag. That
accumulation of
avoirdupois inter-
poses two big paws
in front of the ball,
which eludes them
and finds a haven in
his right eye. Over
he goes on the ver-
dant sward while
Jimmie, tongue
hanging out and
eyes bulging, is
stopped in his tri-
umphal progress at
second. Fatty, re-
suscitated by dint of
vigorous slapping
on the back, resumes
^ his position, blink-
ing mightily.
Cricket, a diminu-
tive gentleman, next astounds the mul-
titude, and himself most of all, by lac-
ing one out past short. It hums right
through the equilateral triangle
formed by the legs of "Pike" Nolan
and the ground Inefore Mr. Nolan is
aware of its proximity. His only re-
course is to turn toward the outfield
and shout frantically, "Put her here,
Mealy, git him now! Nail him at
second!" Meanwhile Cricket speeds
for that base and Jimmy slides like
an avalanche into the home plate,

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

th
ca
an

ag
tn
tJ
a

tion. This is the day before the com-
ing of "Qansmen" and ".Leopard's
Spots" and pitchforks and grave, trou-
blous questions of race and color.
"Yaller" displays his teeth in a heav-
enly grin, dazzles twirler Socks and
fills the bases.

Utterly hysterical and frenzied, Red-
dy's rooters now rage up and down
the coach lines. "Play up a little.
Pug I" "Make 'im throw it, 'Dolphl"
"None out, Yaller!" shriek the half-
crazed urchins. Then Henry John-
son, eighteen years of age, and a "big
boy," occupies the plate. Fatty's co-
horts, sullen, ominous, enraged at the
turn of fortune, wax reckless. Reddy
and his batsmen bold anticipate the
intoxication of victory snatched from
defeat and toss caps in the air.

Spat I Mr. Johnson's slab has en-
countered the sphere and reversed its
swift course. The combined outfield
is seen in a wild dash for the tall tim-
ber toward which the ball is taking
its meteoric flight. The three base-
runners recognizing the uselessness of
haste, walk in, derisively hooting the
dismayed Fattyites. Mr. Henry John-
son aggravates the insult altogether

dred yards away and he might have
crawled in.

Next come 'Dolph Likins and Pug
Dawson and "Yaller." "Yaller" is a
mulatto of anonymous origin, banana-

tii
cr

ly aevisea lor waiermeion consump-

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GODS OF THE DIAMOND

207

unbearably by making a second round
of the bases in jest. As he stalks by
third, taunting Fatty, the captain of
the now-defeated nine, trips him. Such
intolerance from a big boy who has
"butted in anyhow" cannot be brooked
and instantly there is a riot. A wild,
writhing tangle of blue and white,
jeans and flannel, hickory bats and
bare legs covers the vicinity of third.
Intervention is of no use. The knot
must unravel itself, and after an in-
terval of knocking and clawing, with
a general easing Iwick from the center,
does unravel itself. Some cooler head

shouts: "Aw, what's the difference,
anyhow? Only beat us one and had
to have one of the Browns to do that I"
Then the age of tiunult passes and the
era of reason begins again. Fatty,
two fingers uplifted, says : "Let's go
in — the water's fine," and with a yelp
of delight the whole pack heads for
the swimming hole.

Oh, it's a great game, and the play-
ers are our future money changers
and scribes and wearers of ermine and
purple !

Verily, is it a great game — ^the na-
tional game.

OLD WASH AT THE FAIR

(HE county fairs have
been in full blast in
Tennessee this fall,
but I did not know
that old Wash had
been off trying to
run one until he
ambled into my
study the other
night, the hungriest-
looking, most woe-begone darky in
Tennessee. He had rheumatism in his
back, mesmerism in his head and a
have-you-got-any-cold-victuals kind of
a look spread over his countenance. I
thought he had been through the fam-
ine in India and had floated home on
the gang-plank of a wrecked vessel.

"Look erheah, boss," he said, as soon
as he had stuck his head in the door-
way, as if trying to distract attention
from his own looks, "I jes' cum ober
to ax you is de gol'-bug de microbe uv
de yaller fever."

"Why, no," I said. "It's a different
disease altogether."

"Wal, jes' tell me, den," he said em-
phatically, "when dat wave of pros-
perity gwine ter git out'n de three-
minnit class, ennyway — ^jes' tell me !"
As this was too much for me, I had
to take the old man's sarcasm and say
nothing.

"I tell you, suh," he went on, "when
er man starts out on a campain on de
circus whar I b'en, wid a stable uv
bosses, he better take 'is dinner an' 'is
'possum dorg erlong wid 'im, or he'll
go hongry sho!"

I looked at the old man in astonish-
ment. When I had seen him last, he
was fat and hearty.

"Where have you been?" I asked,
"that you should bob up in this well-
fed neighborhood looking like an old
horse led off to the shambles?"

"Hit all cum erbout dis way," said
the old man shamefacedly. "You see,
I dun b'en out on a campain. De
cullud fo'ks gin er fair down in Giles
County an' I thort I'd go down, take
my ol' pie-ball pacer an' rake in all de
filthy luker floatin' erroun' dar. You
see," he said proudly, "my ol' boss
hoi' er worl' record — he am an'
'only.' "

"How so?" I asked in feigned sur-
prise.

"He am de only boss in de worl' dat
hab a record uv 2 129, a curb, two spav-
ins an' a glass eye! Dar am a boss
in Ingyanner dat hab a record uv 2 129,
a curb, one spavin an' a glass eye, but
he ain't in it wid my ol' Pie Ball. Yas,
suh, dat's de wurl's record he hoi's.
An' so, ez I wuz sayin', I thort I'd jes'

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go down an' rake in dat filthy Inker
wid 'im. I didn't hab no harness, but
I happen ter think erbout de little red-
an'-whitc steer dat died so handy-lak
las* winter jes' in time fer me ter feed
all de preachers dat filled my house en-
durin' de deestrick conferdence," the
old man winked, ''an' I made er mighty
good set uv harness outen his hide.
You see, I didn't hab time ter git de
ha'r oflfen it, an' when my ol' blue pie-
ball pacer got ter pacin' fas' down dar
erroim' dat track, I tell you, suh, hit
wuz de prooties' sight you eber seed —
he made er red-white-an'-bluc streak
d'ar 'roun* dat track, an' de niggers
all hoorayed an' say he look lak de
speerit uv Star P'inter wrap'd in de
flag uv our country an' gwine in
I -59^4 ' I've patentid dat idee in har-
ness, an' I'm gwine ter use it nex' yeah
fur speckticle eflFec'."

I looked interested, and the old man
came in and sat down in his usual
chair, near the door.

"Wal, but whar to git de sulky wuz
de naix question. Arter thinkin' ober
it I des remembered dat Brer Moses
Armstrong had marr'd de widder
Johnson's buxomes' gal las' fall an' he
had bin er-haulin' truck ter town in er
ole high-wheel sulky dat Marse Ed
Geers use ter train ole Hal P'inter wid
at de ole track down by de crick. Now,
I knowed whut Brer Moses would
soon need wuss'n ennything in dis
worl', an' so I swop 'im dat ole ellum
cradle dat me an' Dinah done raise all
de chillun in, fer dat sulky. An' when
I hitch ol' Pie Ball up, suh, he ack
dat proud an' sassy I felt mighty nigh
es good es er buxum widder angel in
er paradise uv bal'-haided men. I
knowed all de excheckers uv dat Giles
County fair wuz jes' ez good ez re-
posited in de cash drawer uv my
britdies pocket an' I jes' lit out fer
Giles County wid great expectashuns
in de sulky an' 61' Pie Ball in de shaf 's.

"But when I got down dar, suh,
whut you reckin dem niggers dun dar?
Dar wuz a mighty crowd uv 'em at
de fair groun's, an' de fus' thing I
seed wuz dis paper stuck up all ober
de groun's, an' on de trees an' fences."

and the old man pulled out an old-
time poster headed with a darky lead-
ing an ass, whose ears were longer
than his legs. I looked and it read :

CULLURD FCKS ERTENSHUNI

Gran' picknick an free-fur-all pace at er
race track nex' Safdy. Ladies an' gents,
widders an' yaller gals, 'specially invited to
percipertate, but babies an' Meferdis'
preediers barred. De followin' fam'us
drivers wid deir bosses will be dar:

Free-fur-all pace. Purse, Bre'r Shadradc

Lewis's Coon Dorg.
Pie Ball B. R. G. G. N. H. H

Bre'r Washington.

Limber Jim B. M. K. P. L. D

Bre'r Simon SugB;s.

Kuntry Sawsage G. J. N. S. U. D. B

Bre'r Lay Low.

Admisshun loc: but enny gent escortin'
er yaller legged chicken er gall kin cum in
free. De CuMMixTy.

"That's plain enough," I laughed,
as I handed him back the poster, "but
all these letters after the entries —
what do they mean ?"

"Oh, dat's patentid," said the old
man, "dat's plain emough— dat's
plain emough. Dem letters am new
things on de track an' am dead good
tips to de crowd. Don't you loiow
whut Pie Ball, B. R. G. G. N. H. H.
means?" he asked. "Why it means, Pie
Ball, Blue Roan Gelding, Got No
Holes in Him!'"

"Ah, I see now," I said, "and the
other is Limber Jim, bay mare — "

"No, suh," cried the old man, "you
wrong ergin. De naix one means,
'Limber Jim, Bay Mule, Kin Pace Lak
De Debil,' an' de las' one am 'Kuntry
Sawsage, Gray Jinny, Not Skeered uv
De Ban I' An' dat's whut made me
mad," went on the old man ; "I 'spect-
ed ter meet bosses, not mules and jin-
nies an' I raised er mighty kick. I driv
up ter er nigger settin' sidewize in de
saddle on er ole gray mule in front uv
de jedge's stan'. Sez I sorter mad-lak :

"'Mister, whar am de seckerterry
uv dis associashun, an' whar am his
headquarters ?'

"He drawed hisse'f up an' say, sorter
bitter-lak :

" 'Ef you contemplates formulaliir

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. OLD WASH AT THE FAIR

209

amy interrogashuns consarnin' de
regulashuns uv dis 'sociashun, suh, I
b^^ ter circumnavergate enny pre-
vious disquietude by info'min* you dat
/ am de seckerterry, suh, an' my haid-
quartahs am in de saddle, suh V

"I shot er dagger look at 'im an'
sez I, quiet-lak:

** *I knowed you wuz er damfool,
soon ez I seed yer, but I thort you
knowed de diff'unce twixt yo' haid-
quartahs an' yo' tailquartahs, suh!'
An' den I lit inter dat nigger an' dat
associashun ! I tol' 'em I fotch my fa-
mous boss all de way down dar ter race
ei^^ hosses, not mules an' jinnies, an'
fur munny, not coon dorgs an' chitlin's.
But de fools up in de j edges' stan' —
an' you know it am de easies' place in
de worl' fur fools ter git inter — lowed
dat dat wuz er pacin' race, an' dis wuz
de Ian' uv de free an' home uv de
pacin' boss, an' bofe de jinny an' de
mule would make me think dey sho'ly
had de right ter compeet fer de coon
dawg.

" 'But how you 'spec' me, ef I win,'
sez I, 'ter feed my boss an' me wid a
coon dorg? I kain't eat 'im,' sez I.

"'Dat's all right. Brer Washing-
ton,' sed de jedges, 'but sense de gol'-
bugs dun cohnered all de munny in
de kuntry, we hafter git back ter fus'
principles, an' so we make coon dorgs
en sech things our mejums uv ex-
change. An' I tells you right now dat
er coon dorg am good fur ten dollars'
wuf uv sawsages enny day in dese
parts. Why, you am bettah off dan
de 2:24 pace,' sez he — ^" dat's payable
in cbillin s an' tuckey tails.'

"Wal, I seed I wuz in it, an' ez I
wanted er good coon dorg enny way,
an de widder Johnson dat I wuz kinder
seckin' arter bed cum out ter see me
win, I jes' 's well make de bes' uv hit,
so I hook up ol' Pie Ball an' cum out
on de track. An' Law bless yo' soul,
you jes' orter seen de 'plaws we got!

"But hit made me mad when dat
blamed oY padn' mule an' jinny cum
out on de track. Befo' dey eben gib
us de wurd, dat ol' mule tuck ter
buckin' an' er-snortin', an' she skeered
or Pie Ball so he run Inter wifWcr

Johnson, dat I wuz courtin' an' bed
cum out ter see me go in all my glory ;
hit 'er square in de sttunmidc, stept
on her fifth wheel, an' punctured her
tire — leastwise dat's whut I heerd 'em
say ! De ole lady fainted an' dey had
ter take her off an' blow her up ag'in —
leastwise, dat's whut dey tol' me. An'
she ain't spoke to me sencel Dey had
tulc de coon dorg up in de jedges'
Stan' — ^to he'p jedge de race, I 'spec' —
an' es we cum by in all our glory, dar
he set, lookin' mighty nachul-lak an'
lu4)py, an' hit tickled him so he
barked lak a' ol' army petard jes' es
we got op'site 'im, an' it skeered ol'
Pie Ball so he paced clean ober de
fence, an' back ergin an' den beat de
gang home two links. Oh, I wuz sho'
proud! But when I got back, whut
you reckin dem fool jedges say to
me?

"Dey say: 'Brer Washington, we
fine you a poun' uv terbacker fur layin'
up dat heat.'

" 'Good Heben, gen'l'men,' sez I, *I
didn't lay up no heat — I won it.'

" *De new rule say you shain't lay
up no heat, don't it, sub?' sed de
jedges.

" 'In cose it do, but I didn't lay up
no heat ; I won it, I tell you.'

" 'Brer Washington, you don't ketch
us. When you lay up a dollar you
sabe it, don't you ?'

"'Yes,' sez I.

" 'Wal, you sabe dat heat an' in cose
you lay hit up. Whut's layin' up er
heat but sabin' it?' sez dey. 'In cose
de heat's yo'n, but we hafter go by de
rules an' fine you jes' de same. Jes*
ban' us out dat poun' er terbacker,'
dey say, 'or you don't go 'possum hunt-
in' behin' dat dorg. How you 'spec'
'sociashuns gwineter prosper ef dey
don't tax de winner?'

"I wuz bilin' mad, an' I sed, sorter
bitter-lak : 'Gen'l'men, I means ter cas'
no inflicshuns on yo' feracity, but
hadn't you bettah let de coon dorg
jedge de res' uv dis race?' Den I
tu'ns off smilin', sarcasm-lak. But dey
didn't min' my talk ertall, but calls fo'
de naix' heat.

"Wal suh, we got off fur de nqix'

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

heat, but dat dorg-jedge up in de gran'
Stan' cu'dn't keep 'is mouf shet ter
sabe 'is life. 'Sides dat, he cum er-
t'arin' down arter us an' chased us up
de track lak er yaller cyclone in a bam
lof '. I've heerd uv drivers chasin' stakes
befo'," laughed the old man, "but I
nurver heerd uv de stake er-chasin'
de drivers. Hit skeercd ol' Pie Ball
inter a break, but hit skeered de ol'
mule an' de jinny into de fas'es' pace
dat I eber seed turn er comer I Befo'
I knowed it dey wuz er-goin' down de
track lak a pair uv ol' msty lizards
down er rail fence, an' ef eber I had
enny doubt 'bout dat ol' mule an' jin-
ny bein' in de free-fur-all pacin' class,
hit soon lef ' me an' no mustake I Befo'
I knowed hit dey wuz er quahter uv er
mile ahaid uv me, wid dat coon dorg
still er-chasin' 'em an' er-barkin' an'
bofc uv 'em er-pacin' lak er team. De
ol' jinny's ye'rs wuz laid back lak er
jack rabbit's, an' de ol' mule's wuz
laid for'ds lak de cow-ketcher uv a
steam ingine. Her tail p'inted to'des
de Nawth Stah, an' his'n to'des de
horizon, an' twixt 'em, es long es de
dorg kep in de rear, dey wuz er-bust-
in' P'inter's record all ter pieces. I
reefed an' reefed ol' Pie Ball, but when
he settled we wuz so fur behin' we
cu'dn't tell which way ter go, so I jes'
follered de coon dorg's bark lak I wuz
out 'possum huntin' an' driv on. An'
somebody hollered out, 'Does you
think dey kin pace now. Brer Wash-
in'ton?' an' I heerd de niggers laf
lak dey fall outen de gran' stan'.

"Thinks I ter myse'f, sump'n' got-
ter be done er me an' Pie Ball gwine
ter be beat by de oneryes' pa'r dat
eber went roun' er track.

"Now, when you can't win by speed,
you mus' try sump'n' else," said the
old man sagely. "De bes' gine'als,
whuther in a race er in a war, am de
ones dat's got brains up dey sleeve es
well es in dey haids, an' de man dat
kin look on de laws uv common sense
an' circumsense am jes' dat much bet-
tah off dan de one dat do nufiin' but
shoot de guns he happen ter hab.
Now, when I wuz young I lamed ter

blow my mouf lak er dinner hawn, an'
when I seed dey had me beat, I jes'
slapped my han' up ter my jaw an'
sed, Toot — toot — tuu — uu — u — ut jes'
lak er dinner hawn fer all de worl'."
Here the old man laughed till he near-
ly fell out of his chair.

"An' whut you reckin happen?
Why, dat blame ol 'mule thort it wuz
de dinnah hawn sho' 'nuff, en es he
b'en allers stopped what dat tooted, he
stopped es quick es a pewter bullet
when it hits er mud bank, an' Brer
Simon Sugg div outen dat sulky seat
laker skeered bullfrog huntin' fer wai-
ter. Den de ole mule tum roun' an'
answer dat hawn wid: 'Kehonk — ke-
honk — kehee — ee — e — ef jes' es na-
chul es all de worl'.

"An' de ol' jinny," here the old man
had another paroxysm of laughter,
"she thort she recognized dat voice,
hit soun' so much lak de mule's daddy,
an' she stopped so suddin she an' de
sulky bofe kicked up behin' an' sent
Brer Lay Low huntin' fur grass, an'
befo' dey knowed it I paced by de
whole gang an' lay up anur'r heat!
Sho' 'nuff de fool jedges fine me ag'in,
but I wuz 'tarmin'd ter hab dat coon
dorg an' I paid hit lak a man.

" *De puss am yo'n, Brer Washin'-
ton,' said de jedges; *git you a good
rope an' go haul it in.' "

Here the old man sighed audibly and
showed every inclination to stop.

"Well, I hope it was a good dog,"
I said sympathetically.

"Boss, you ain't nurver b'en in er
race wid er pacin' mule, is you ? Wal,
you ain't posted on de cussedness uv
dat animule. When I went down dc
stretch ter git my stake, de cussed mule
had paced ober him an' kilt him ! My
puss sho' wuz daid ! I traded ol' Pie
Ball off fur a good dinnah en emuff
munny ter git home wid, an' when I
go out on de gran' circus ergin hitTl
be ter pace fer de dollars uv our dad-
dies an' not fur coon dorgs en chit-
lin's." And the old man ambled out
to put an extra corn pone and some
sweet potatoes in the ashes, when he
covered up his fire for the night

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IN A LIBRARY

By Lewis Worthington Smith

It is an April evening and the gas is
lighted. A few students are scattered
about the room busy with books and
their lessons. The librarian is at her
desk near one of the windows, where
she is somewhat secluded.

The voices of students are heard
singing through the open window of a
house across the street.

Oh, what IS all of Plato's lore

And what the joy divine
Of worshipping with lifted eyes

Before the Delphic shrine,
To this of holding unrebuked

Your little hand in mine,
Since amor in the class to-day

We neither could decline?

Oh, what are all the molecules

That ever wandered free
In search of new affinities,

Ca plus CO3,
Compared with this eternal bond

Uniting you and me,
Because our valence is the same,

And so our souls agree?

The librarian sits musingly a mo-
ment with a strange smile on her face.
Even when a man enters the library
and approaches her, she does not look
up until he is almost at her side. Then
she gives a quick cry.

THE LIBRARIAN —

What! Frank! I did not—

THE MAN —

I came
own best

No, of course.

Unheralded, because my
dreams

Held not this promise eariier than to-
day.

I never knew before I got so near
That not the wealth of all Golconda's

mines
Could draw me by without a passing

glance
At these old halls, where ten long years

ago
We turned with ready hearts to face

the world
In our yoimg wisdom.

THE LIBRARIAN —

Ten? Is it so long?
And never back again in all that time?
It seems impossible.

THE MAN —

It should have been.
Until to-day I never knew how much
I have been needing the old sights and

sounds
And all the memories. The world I

the world !
It is so big, so strange, so wonderful.
And I had set my will to battle down
Its lets and hindrances until my heart
Laughed in the conquest. Oh, it's

hard, hard, hard!
I never knew ; but, after all, the joy
When with my hands grown tired, my

hope sunk low.
The joy at last to see the end show

clear i
That pays for all.

THE LIBRARIAN —

And you have seen the end ?
I need not ask. I should have known

at once.
I see you now just as you used to be.
Strong, happy, eager always, come

what might,
And equal always to the last demands.

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212

THE TAYLOR -TROTVVOOD MAGAZINE

What have they been? What have you

done? I know
It must be wonderful.

THE MAN —

What have I done?
I could be happy talking all the night.
Telling you how I tried and seemed to

win
And failed and tried again. What have

I done?
Oh, something, something; they are

strange, wild things,
But mainly I have lived and found life

sweet,
And pushed the lives of others farther

on.
My eyes have seen the sunset as a lure
And followed, making paths, great

paths of iron,
Bridging the streams and piercing

through the hills.
Testing the joys of fresh experience.
And feeling still the distance as a prize
Of ever-changing wonder.

THE LIBRARIAN —

Roving yet
As always. How your boyish fancies

flew
In gay disdain of our more sluggish

wits!
And equally of books and tasks and

toils
That made us slaves while you were

free as air.

THE MAN —

Not roving, Ella, only going on.

Watching the flood-tide of my fellows'
lives

Flowing behind me through the ways
I make.

And feeling somehow that within my-
self

I live a thousand things they live and
thrill

With all their joys. Not roving, no,
but you?

Tell me about yourself.

THE LIBRARIAN —

About myself?

She pauses, looking at him a mo-
ment in a startled and strange per-
plexity.

If there were anything about myself,
If there were anything, — blank, all a
blank.

Her eyes fall away from his in an
unhappy musing, and, while they are
both silent, the voices of the students
come to them again from the house
across the street. In a subdued reverie
they listen together.

VOICES —

Oh, I went down to Isaac's store,
I had a watch and some things more.
I never had seen the man before.
Oh, I never had met the man before ;
But he took my watch and I todc his

gold,
(As I left the store the air seemed
cold)
And I spent it all on Susie,
She never thanked me« but then I'm
told
That that's the way with Susie,
A way that's just like Susie.

Next morning, too, as I went to class,
She asked the time, alack, alas i
I blushed and smiled like a looking-
glass.
And lied for the honor of the fresh-
man class;
And then, as I thought of my watch

and gold,
' feU my spine grow prickly cold.

I needed more for Susie.
You must throw your all at her feet,
I'm told,
For that's the way with Susie,
A sweet, strange way in Susie.

It was her fault that I couldn't speak
A single word that day in Greek,
And so she smiled cm a senior freak
Who showed in the class a learned

streak.
They sat on the campus while he told
The tense or case. I grew more bold

To catch a glance from Susie.
She saw me, but her eyes were cold ;
But that's the way with Susie,
That's why we all love Susie.

The song stops, but they both
listen a moment longer while the ac-
companist continues drumming on the
piano. The singing and the presence of

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IN A LIBRARY

213

the man beside her have taken her back
a long way, and the signs of that are
glistening in her eyes.

THE MAN —

The same old foolishness — I half for-
got—
As if I ever could forget! That

room, —
It was that very room a night like this,
That is the memory that brought me

back,
That still was singing, singing in my

heart.
That came upon me like a breath of

spring
When some one told me that you still

were here,
Still to be won; and I have dared —

you know.
You loved me then ; you said you loved

me then.
It is no sudden love I bring or ask.
Here where it grew and failed me for

a time.
It springs again with the old leaf and

bloom.
And now, this moment, while the old

free joy
Is tremulous upon the air we breathe,
I offer it again, I ask again.
Let us be happy without fear or pause.
I should not come so suddenly, I know,
I should not startle you in this wild

way.
But so I must or never speak at all.
Because I have no more than thi^ brief

hour.
And then must lose you. No, it can-
not be;
You will not let it be.

THE LIBRARIAN —

It is so long,
And I had half forgotten once — I

think—
I am so tightened in these bonds of

use.
These diains of habit— oh, if you had

come
Long, long ago,—

She has before listened to him in a
tumult of startled feelings, and now
she pauses afraid of the consenting in-
clinations of her own heart.

THE MAN —

It cannot be too late.
Life is before us both like a long joy.
Things to be seen and felt and dreamed

and tried.
There is so much, so much you have

not known
To which I long to take you. We shall

go
Through fresh adventures from this

little world
Where both of us have nourished all

our hopes
In leaping fancies, never yet so real
Or half so beautiful. It needs no

more
Than to be brave against our petty

fears.
No wish half-hearted ever blazoned

joy
In sure fulfillment. Let me lead you

on
Into my world of things too strange

and new
10 give you one r^jet for this you

leave.

She has risen and stands before him,
trembling in the realisation of the
possibility that he offers her. One by
one those who have been working with
the books in the library have gone out,
until there is left only a single student
in a remote corner.

THE LIBRARIAN —

To come when I have lost the power
to live.

Sunk in these cards and titles, names
and shelves,

Busied with catalogues and dumb de-
tails

Of endless labor feeding other minds —

For every one but me these books have
tongues

And cry out meanings with a herald's
voice ;

But I — you should have left me un-
disturbed —

It is not fair — you should not — when
you knew —

She sinks back into her chair in the
failure of her voice and sits there in a
helpless surrender to the things that
have come over her, while he looks at

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214

THE TAYLOR. TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

her in doubtful understanding. In
that moment of silence, a young man
and a girl pass below the window near
them, talking and laughing softly.

THE MAN —

I have come quickly j you are over-
wrought.
There was no other way, and eveij

now
I cannot wait, I still must urge your

choice.
I had an hour to find you, speak my

heart.
And take the chances of your heart's

reply.
The old life came upon me, happy,

free.
Thrilling with careless rapture like a

boy
Who whistles, turns upon his hands

and flings
His feet in air, and then goes whis-
tling on.
We have been bondsmen of our tasks

too long.
Both you and I. To-morrow let us

laugh
As if we sang — what were the words

we sang
When you were young too, in that

same old room.
Classmates and lovers? Gone? Of

course they're p^ne.
Gone and forgotten like a jest that

flies
From lip to lip until the table roars
And asks another. Shall we hear the

new
And warm our hearts with laughter?

Let us try.

The one remaining student in the li-
brary comes to the librarian's desk to
ask about a book which he has been
looking for. The need of meeting his
inquiry brings her to better control of
herself, and she goes away among the
stacks with him. While she is gone,
the man listens again to the singing
across the street.

VOICES —

Oh, what shall be the greeting when
the boys are coming back?

When the hands are on the keyboard

and the music on the rack ?
When we gather, gather, gather in the

places that we knew ?
When the leader starts the chorus and

the fellows follow through?
Hands all together! young and old

are one.
Here the days are passed away and

life is just begun.
Hearts all together! take your place

again
With sophomores and freshies.who

are learning to be men.

The bench's robe of ermine and the

senate's dress of state
Put off, before you enter, for a gar-
ment less sedate.
The world has given you honors

crowned your forehead unawares.
But here among the juniors there is

not a soul that cares.
Hands all together ! youth is ours once

more.
Here the days are passed away and life

is all before.
Hearts all together! take your place

again
With all the boys of once and now just

learning to be men.

Bring each your fund of stories of the

campus, rain and shine.
Of tasks and jokes and rivalries, and

pour them out like wine.
Tell over all your tremblings when

commencement came in view.
For still among the seniors there are

those that tremble too.
Hands all together! pledge the dear

old halls.
You who learned of love and life with-
in these ancient walls.
Hearts all together! take your place

again
With boys who sing the joys of youth

and flout the cares of men.

The librarian comes back to her desk
alone. Her face has a more settled
content, and the man takes that as a
sign of her having reached a mood of
consenting. It is a spirit of gentle and
sympathetic encouragement, rather
than of urgency, in which he now
speaks.

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IN A LIBRARY

215

THE MAN —

I have been sure that you could not

refuse.
It is my time to go ; one little word
Will bring me back to help you build

again
Those airy castles that our hands flung

down
Too idly, wantonly.

THE LIBRARIAN —

Black ruins now ;
Let them stay ruins. In this moment's

space.
The truth comes back to me ; I know

myself,
Know what I was and what I cannot

be
And all the dwarfing I have suffered

here
For these long years — that shuts me

out at last
From any prc«nise of a nobler joy
That you might lead me to. The shell

of things
Has been by pleasure, backs of books

in rows
That I have touched and handled, la-
bled, placed.
And passed to others, but have never

read.
I am but shell myself; the wine of

life.
Raised to my lips, would be too strong

a draught.
I put it by, I can but put it by,
And afterward remember — what we

are
We cannot cease to be for new de-
mands
And new occasions. I have starved

so long
That I must starve forever — only

this—
I thank you for the proffer and the

grace,
I shall lose it ever as a thing
Too lightly prized. I shall have

seemed to live.
Because I hold it like a glow of fire

In some dim chamber where no stran-
ger treads,

Making the walls a splendor of old
things

The heart has treasured for its dear-
est hours.

So much I take — and give you —

THE MAN —

All yourself,
All and enough, whatever that may

be.
I do not ask the girl my boyhood

knew.
We both are older.

THE LIBRARIAN —

What I should have been,
The girlhood promise that you used to

know —
If that were mine — if — gone, forever

gone.
Your free, glad life, my straightened

narrowness —
You cannot mate the eagle and the

wren.
And you and I — we were not wise

enough.
I should have loved you once; you

come too late.
We both are used to thwartings ; let it

go,
And I shall be the braver for this

hour,
Braver and happier until I die.

The last remaining student has gone
home, and nozv^ there is a step at the
door which the librarian recognises as
that of the girl who was to call for her
and go home with her. By an involun-
tary impulse she raises her hand, and
the man puts it to his lips. Then the
door opens, the girl enters, and the
three go out together. The singing
across the street has ceased, and in its
place some one is playing the **Lore-
lei" on the flute. As they pass out the
door, the janitor enters and goes
around turning out the lights one by
one.

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THE SPIRIT OF THE COUNTER-
FEITER

By Moncure Lyne

— iLD DINAH sat by
' her hearthstone,
smoking a corn-
cob pipe while the
rankest odor of to-
b a c c o pervaded
the atmosphere.
Though an ash-
cake baked on the
red-hot coals, there was a meditative
look in the old woman's eye, amount-
ing almost to sadness. Dinah was per-
plexed to a state of bewilderment as
she listened to the chatter of her off-
spring, for Geneva had the floor — and
Geneva was Dinah's educated grand-
daughter. With an affected precision,
she spoke a language very different
from the vernacular lisped at her
grandmother's knee. It was the Eng-
lish that public-school education has
grafted on the Afro-American's tree
of knowledge.

'Thursday," observed the girl, '*is
Thanksgiving."

*'An' in de name uv glory, whut's
dat ?" asked Dinali.

*'Why, grandmama! the idea of such
a question. But then, being born a
slave, it is not surprising that you are
not enlightened. Thanksgiving is the
greatest day in the calendar of New
England. It was inaugurated by the
Pilgrim Fathers."

"Wuz Pres'den' Lincoln one uv de
Pilgrim Fathers?" asked Dinah calmly.
"No, no indeed; they were very re-
ligious, good people," began Geneva;
but old Dinah interrupted.

"Chile, I knows Lincoln wuz a good
man ; an' I b'leeves you is mix'd dar.

fer he inaug'rated us — de word means
set us free — dat's whut."

Geneva smiled, but made no com-
ment, as she continued :

"On Thanksgiving, every family is
supposed to feast on turkey."

**Now, I'se sho' you is mix'd up
somewhar, for dat is Christmus whut
you talkin' 'bout; an' I ain't neber
heerd uv no Pilgrim Fathers habin'
nuthin' to do wid Chris'mus — unless
dat am de new fangled name fer de
Wise Men f'um de East — ^bnt my ole
miss useter tell me dat Abe Lincoln
come f'um de West — so'se I is all stirr'd
roun' 'bout de p'ints uv de compass;
but tuhky reminds me uv de bes' place
in Gawd's green wuhld, ole Virginny."

Geneva gave her grandparent a pity-
ing glance. "I hope," she said, **that
we may have a turkey at Thanksgiv-
ing, like other people."

**Lan' sakes!" broke in Dinah, *'de
day uv miracles am ober; whar's I
gwine ter git a tuhky, way here at
de Norf, wid no roost dat I knows
nuthin' 'bout? Seems to me, book-
larnin' don't teach you no common
sense." And Dinah finished her sen-
tence with a grunt of disgust.

Frequently, though furtively, had
Dinah sighed for those halcyon days
when "ole marse" and "ole miss"
provided for all her needs in the child-
like life of the Virginia plantation ; for
her burden of responsibilities increased
every year, so that the darky, g^own
old, sighed for the irresponsibilities
of youth. She would not, however,
have Geneva guess it; no, not for
worlds. The girl, belonging to a new

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THE SPIRIT OF THE COUNTERFEITER

217

era of thought and of time, could not
have appreciated her longings ; so Di-
nah bowed to the inevitable, and meta-
phorically adjusted her thinking-cap.
Soon the door closed on Geneva, who
was oflF for a constitutional, leaving
her grandmother to enjoy alone the
exercise of the wash-tub, for Dinah
was a laundress. That was the title
Geneva had bestowed, though the old
darky spoke of herself always simply
as a "wash-'oman.**

Left to herself, the old slave enjoyed
the privilege of musing aloud.

"Now, ef twuz jist Chris'mus," said
she, "er body might be lak de chillun
an' 'xpec' ole Kris ter fetch dat tuhky
— but' dat's all foolishness, here at de
Norf, 'cause whar folks libs on cold
bread, dar ain't no chimbly wuth
speakin' Tx)ut, lak dem down Souf
whar is big 'nuff fer ter lay a fence-
rail 'cross de fiah."

Reflections on Dixie seemed to sug-
gest somethilng more tangible than
pleasant memories, for suddenly her
face brightened, like a ray of sunshine
streaming through a chink in the wall.
Crossing the room rapidly, she knelt
by an old chest ; and after wiping the
soap-suds from her hands with her
apron, she carefully lifted the top. For
some moments she rummaged, but
finally a faded velvet reticule rewarded
her search. Returning to the fire, old
Dinah poked the embers until they
blazed into a flame. Squatting close
to their light, she cautiously untied the
string of the little bag. As she did
so. a rabbit-foot fell from it and rolled
to the floor. With the superstition of
her race, the eyes of the negress
brightened, her lips parted in a smile,
revealing blue gums.

"Dar now!" she exclaimed, "I
knowed hit gwine to bring me luck
f um de way hit fell, wid de toes turn
to de fire, like de ole molly ha'r wuz
er-warmin' herse'f. Dat mean good
luck fer dis here ole nigger, sho' ez
you bawn, 'case hit 'pear lak de rabbit
am sati'fied an' gwine tarry. 'Twa'n't
lak de toes turn'd to de do', fer dat
w'uld mean dat de luck wuz gwine

out f'um Dinah's house— f'um de
very hairthstone hitse'f."

Her Icmg black fingers felt in the
reticule searchingly ; then slowly drew
forth several bills of Confederate
money. Convulsively Dinah clutched
it — for this was money, or rather it
used to be. It was the darky's lucky-
piece, kept in her purse to keep witches
away. Dinah had never definitely un-
derstood why if it bought things in
days gone by, it could not now. The
change in the currency was beyond her
comprehension. Necessity for money,
however, now brought into play her
ingenuity. When Dinah had left Rich-
mond just after the war, her "old mis-
tis" had given her that reticule as a
keepsake, explaining that the contents
were worthless save as a relic. But
somehow the darky had never been
fully ccmvinced of the fact.

**Ef 'tis gone out uv use," she rea-
soned, "hit's gwine ter come back in
fashion some day, 'long wid dat good
hoopskirt ole miss done throw'd away
—so I'se gwine ter keep hit, so'se to
be ready when de time do come."

Dinah considered the question se-
riously. The more she thought, the
more plausible it seemed. Old clothes
could be remodeled and made to do
service again, so why could nof money ?
Surely the only difference the darky
could see was in the color. The notes
she held in her hand were blue, while
those used nowadays were green. That
they represented two distinct govern-
ments Dinah did not realize. To her
mind money meant barter and nothing
more. All else would have been be-
yond her comprehension. But she was
shrewd ; for years of substituting and
improvising had whetted her wits, so
that now she looked at the Confederate
money in the light of a buried talent.

''Why couldn't I dye hit green?"
thought she, "fer den hit would be in
de fashion."

This idea having once taken root in
her mind, was quick to bear fruits of
possibilities. Bread eaten in secret is
pleasant, temptation in the guise of a
turkey is powerful. So Dinah pon-
dered.

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THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

With the folk-knowledge of her
early training, she knew the juice of
spinach set with copperas, made a
good green dye for general purposes ;
but having neither the spinach nor
copperas, "drugsto' dye" would be
cheaper and surer, so she decided to
try it. Hastily shoving the reticule in
her pocket, she threw her ragged
shawl over her head and shambled out
in the street. As soon as the nearest
drug-store was reached, with the reck-
lessness characterizing speculators,
Dinah's last dime was Invested in a
package of green dye.
* * *

When the Confederate notes had
been duly turned to greenbacks, the
old darky surveyed them with a ra-
diant smile.

**I *clar," said she, "dey looks good
ez new, spankin' new ! Nobody would
ever think ter look at 'em, dat dey is
long ober thurty years ole — I b'liebe
dey looks mos' too new !"

Then an idea came to her and she
squeezed them tightly in her hand.
When she surveyed them again, a
chuckle of satisfaction burst from her
lips, as she added :

"Now, dey is jist right; wrinkledy
an' eben more fashion'bly. Lordy, but
dis here old nigger am rich shore
'nuff ! I got money ter buy me a whole
flock uv tuhkies ; an' udder vittles be-
sides, ef I likes. But won't Geneva be
s'prised at de layout Tse gwine to
spread !"

Though the old woman with a de-
light almost childish regarded the
money, yet somehow as she considered
spending it, doubts as to whether her
work would be detected began to an-
noy ; hence she awaited impatiently the
return of Geneva. The girl had hard-
ly entered the room, when her grand-
mother nervously said :

'*Chile, you is mighty late, I'se been
'xpectin' you fer more dan a hour by
de clock; 'case I wants you to do a
favor fer yo' ole mammy whar can't
read." Producing a ten-dollar bill,
she shook and held it high in the air
— for Geneva to be properly impressed
with the dignity of her request. The

girl's eye stretched wide with amaze-
ment; and a broad grin spread over
her face.

"I wants ter know how much money
is dat?" asked Dinah, adding, by way
of explanation, "I foun' hit while you
wuz traipsin' de streets." Her con-
science did not demand that she should
explain that it was found in the reti-
cule. Geneva scanned it curiously.

"It lo<*s all right— but, but— well I
never saw any like it before, and I be-
lieve some Dago lost it. I doubt if it is
any accoimt in this country. If you'll
strike a light, I can read what is writ-
ten on it and see."

Dinah grabbed it away from her;
for suspense and disappointment -filled
her with rage impossible to repress.

"Gib hit back to me," she said, "fer
you jist neber seed so much money
befo' in yo' life, you tar-dumplin', you
lim' uv Satan; you ain't nuthin' but
a nappy-headed nigger ef you does
make out you c'n read. I don't b'liebe
a word uv hit — ^you jis' totes books to
school fer show !"

But despite her vituperation, Ge-
neva's words sank deep into her heart;
and she 'carefully weighed her criti-
cism, with the result that she deter-
mined to experiment with the money
on some one who could not read. Like
an inspiration, her eyes wandered to
the clothes basket, the cpntents of
which had been scarcely touched. This
sight suggested to her mind the Chi-
nese laundryman as the person of all
others least likely to recognize her
handiwork. But she must bide her
time. The Chinese laundryman ! EH-
nah smiled as she thought of her pos-
sible victim. It was the prejudice of
the working class of our country
against Mongolians.

Not, however, until Geneva was off
for school next day did the old woman
find opportunity for her errand. Then
she selected from her clothes basket
several collars and handkerchiefs and
wrapped them neatly in a piece of
newspaper. This done, she tucked the
bundle imder her shawl, put on an old
poke bonnet that nearly served as a
mask, and started on her quest of a

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THE SPIRIT OF THE COUNTERFEITER

219

laundry. Prudence suggested one very
remote from the district in which she
dwelt. Trudging along, she mumbled
aloud ; for the habit of talking to her-
self was a great relief to her mind.

"Dat Chinee won't know whut kin'
er money dis is, 'ca'se he cain't read-
nobody 'cep'in' white fo'ks an' new
nig:gers c'n read ; an' ef I does fool a
Chinee, tain't gwine pester me — I ain't
eben gwine study 'bout hit, fer let him
go 'long, an' do a man's work, like
plowin', an' not be takin' bread an*
meat out uv my mouf by takin' m
washin'."

When a laundry a long way from
her home had been found, she walked
boldly in; and the look of contempt
cast on Sen Lung, as he bent over his
ironing-board, ought to have been a
warning — but he did not see it.

"I want you to wash me dese col-
lars and han'k'chiefs," she calmly
commanded.

"Me no washee fo' niggee," replied
the Mongolian.

"You don' know whut you talkin'
Ijout," retorted Dinah, "I ain't no nig-
ger, I'se a cullud 'oman ; I iin't eben
black, but jist gingerbread — ^but you
looks monstrus lak a mulatto yo' own-
se'f." Then with an injured air that
intensified her dignity, Dinah deposited
her bundle on the counter, while her
hand sought her pocket and drew forth
the ten-dollar bill.

"Dese my white fo'k's clo's," she
continued, "an' I'se done brought de
money so dar could be no dispute 'bout
de price — an' now I lay you gwine be
glib arter de job."

Sen Lung's eyes brightened. He
put down his iron to examine the bun-
dle, then he glanced at the denomina-
ticwi of the note, and handed Dinah a
handful of change, and a red laundry
ticket.

Dinah took her departure like pa-
troKers were behind her. Forgotten
was her rheumatism — forgotten was
her misery — forgotten was everything,
save her desire to escape and buy the
turkey. Turkey ! Turkey ! The mere
thought was appetizing. Turkey bast-
ed brown and stuffed with rich dress-

ing. Geneva would be proud of her
grandma's cooking. Dinah would
show her old people knew a little
something — something more palatable
than abstract knowledge — for kitchen-
art is a high art, thought old Dinah, as
homeward she sped. The coins jingled
in her wallet; and Dinah smiled se-
renely as she muttered:

"I sho' did conjer dat blab-mouf
Chinee, yes, dat I did — I rub de rab-
bit-foot on dat money ; an' now he c'n
rub de gun-uv-rabbit on dem clo's,
fer dey tells me dat's whut dey uses."

In the warm November sunlight,
Geneva stood on the door-sill^ await-
ing her grandmother's return ; for the
old woman had taken the key with her.
Unlocking the door, she said :

"Come on in de house, chile. Yo'
ole mammy neber mean nuthin' by
whut she say yistidy, 'ceptin' ter lam
you not to comment on fo'ks' b'long-
in's dat wuz raise wid de quality. But
I likes to tes' yo' larnin' to see ef dey
teaches you right at school. Ef you
c'n make out what dat say, mebbe
'stead uv a gold medal, Til gib you
a tuhky fer Thanksgibin', but you ain't
to 'vite no Pilgrim Fathers to eat hit,
'case yo' ole mammy wants to git her
own stomach full uv real tuhl^ one
more time 'fore she die."

Geneva reached out her hand and
took the red laundry ticket; steal-
ing meanwhile a glance at her grand-
mother's face for doubts as to her sani-
ty were beginning to enter the girl's
mind.

"If this is writing," snapped she, "I
can't read it ; maybe it's one of the deai
languages, but it looks more like a
chicken had stepped in ink and walked
over the paper."

"Now, hit do fer a fac'," assented
Dinah, "an' I sho' is please' dat you
is got some common sense to back on ;"
but a smile lit up her dusky counte-
nance as she added; "But dat ain't
no chicken track — dat's a tuhky gob-
bler track dis time uv year."

And before Geneva could divine her
meaning, old Dinah was shuffling up
the street to the green-grocery. When
she returned laden with not only a

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220

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

young gobbler but a pumpkin and
mince-meat, the girVs curiosity almost
equaled her delight.

'*It's just lovely," she cried, "and
Fm so glad I'm living! But how on
earth did you manage it — was that
money good that you found yester-
day?"

Dinah rested her hands on her wide-
spreading hips and smiled : ''Dem vit-
tles am good," was her reply, "so don't
pester yo' head 'bout money, fer de
Lawd will pervide. Yo' ole granmam-
my cain't read — ^but she c*n cook all
right; an' she c'n make more money
out uv her washin'uv collars an'hank'-
chiefs dan dat heathen Qiinaman wid
de laundry. So 'eat whut is set 'fore
you, axin' no questions fer conscience
sake' — is whut de good Book say;
an' we niggers b'liebe in de trufe uv de
Scripture de same at de Norf ez down
Souf."

"Scripture quoting is in keeping with
Thanksgiving," declared Geneva, "for
that was the spirit of the Pilgrim Fath-
ers."

The old negro was busy salting the
turkey, and paid little attention, so
that the word "spirit" was the only
part of Geneva's speech that she com-
nrehended.

"What's dat you is sayin' 'bout
sperrits?" asked she.

"I said *the spirit of the Pilgrim
Fathers,* " replied the girl.

"H'esh !" interrupted Dinah. "Quit
yo' talkin' 'bout de sperrits uv dem ole
daid fo'ks — fer ha'nts skeers me mos'
ter deff. I made sho' dat you wuz
thinkin' lak I is, when I notice how
fat dat tuhky amt, somehow my min' jist
natchully hankers arter some sperrits
to help wash de grease down my th'oat
— sump'n' lak apple-toddy or a mint-
julep— -dat 's de sperrits dat makes fo'ks
cheerful ; dem is de sperrits fer dis ole
nigger, sho's you bawn."

And Geneva never suspected her
grandmother had developed another
spirit ; the spirit of the counterfeiter,
for Dinah held to the tenet of not let-
ting her left hand know what her right
hand did.

MY WHIP-POOR-WILL

Evening shades are falling, falling thick at last.
Creeping o'er the meadow, climbing up the hill ;

And I hear a plaintive calling, quick and fast.

Calling from the woodland, where all is dark and still :

"Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will !"

Somewhere it is calling, "Whip-poor-will!"

The nightingale is singing, singing low and sweet.

Singing to its sweetheart, singing to the stars ;
While there comes a ringing from where the shadows meet,

A sad and plaintive ringing, from the pasture bars :
"Whip-poor-will ! Whip-poor-will !"
Lonely is its ringing, "Whip-poor-will!"

Sweetheart, I am yearning, yearning for you, still.

Longing for your kisses, pure as stars above ;
While my eyes are burning as with tears they fill.

Don't you hear me calling for you, love?
"Whip-poor-will! Whip-poor-will!"
Waiting for your answer, "Whip-poor-will!" - Will D, Muse,

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HOME-GROWN TEA IN THE SOUTH

By Waldon Fawcett

TEA growing in the United
States is on the threshold of
a new development that will
give this interesting industry a wholly
new importance in the eyes of many
housewives, particularly those resident
in the South. This present advance
contemplates * the growing of tea for
home consumption in gardens of limit-
ed area in town or country. Imbued
with an ambition to follow this new
trend to its logical conclusion, some of
the agricultural ex-
perts in the employ
of the national
government have
lately discovered
by actual experi-
m e n t that tea
leaves may be
satisfactorily cured
merely by the use
of such pieces of
apparatus as are to
be found in the or-
dinary private
kitchen.

A large propor-
tion of the south-
em half of the re-
public is suited to
tea growing, the
climate of the
Southern and Gulf States in general
being admirably adapted to the culti-
vation of the plant. There is preva-
lent to some extent a belief that the tea
plant can thrive only in a climate that
enjoys what might be termed excessive
rainfall, and some persons have doubted
the adaotauiiity of certain nortions of
the South because of the fact that the
rainfall is considerably less than in the
famous tea-producing countries of the
Orient. However, these doubters have

A SHELTER FOR A TEA BED

evidently overlooked the fact that in
such portions of Dixieland the average
annual temperature is lower, causing
less evaporation and consequently re-
quiring less rainfall.

It may be said in a general way that
the cultivation of the tea plant may be
undertaken with reasonable promise
of success in any district where the to-
tal rainfall in a year exceeds fifty
inches and where at least thirty inches
of rain falls during the cropping sea-
son of the tea.
Of course^ tem-
perature is also an
important i n f 1 u-
ence, but any cli-
mate where the
thermometer sel-
dom registers low-
er than 24 de-
grees Fahrenheit
and never goes be-
low zero may he
pronounced suita-
l3le. A well-drained
and easily pene-
trable clay loam
or sandy loam soil
is best for the tea
plants, and this
form of vegetation
being of subtropi-
cal origin, needs as much protection
from the cold as possible so that it is
advantageous to select for a tea gar-
den a site with a southern exposure,
insuring plenty of sunshine.

Before proceeding with mention of
the new phase of tea growing, perhaps
a word should be said in explanation
of the failure of a previous undertak-
ing of similar character in the South.
Some of our readers may remember
that several years ago a number of tea

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THE TAYLOR -TROT WOOD MAGAZINE

gardens, varying in size, were started
in diflferent parts of the South, but
most of them were allowed to die
through lack of interest. A thorough
investigation as to the cause has dis-
closed the fact that in almost every in-
stance the attempt was abandoned be-
cause the grower who was raising tea
on a small scale did not understand
how to pluck and make the leaves into
tea for drinking. This stumbling-
block has now been removed, as
will be pointed out later in the article.

How auspicious are the
conditions for tea growing
under Southern skies is best
attested by the remarkable
success that has attended
the operation of the Pine-
hurst tea gardens near
Summerville, South Caro-
lina, where tea is grown
commercially, and which
produce a product that now
sells in the discriminating
groceries of the country
side by side with the best
importations from the Far
East. At Pinehurst there
are about one hundred
acres planted in tea, and
this tract yields about 12,-
000 pounds of dry tea each
year. One of the gardens
on this plantation has pro-
duced as much as 535
pounds of dried tea to the
acre during a single season.

The experience of those
persons who of late years
have undertaken home tea
growing, either on their own initia-
tive or on behalf of the government,
indicates that the best plan for plant-
ing is to put the seed in the ground
in the autumn or winter just before a
rain and to sow the seed in a loca-
tion where it will be protected from
the prevailing winds by a fence, a
wind-break or the side of a house. It
is a decided advantage to erect over
the newly planted tract a frame hav-
ing a height of about six feet above
ground and consisting of boards sup-
ported in horizontal position on a

structure of upright poles. The
scheme, it will be observed, is very
similar to that of raising tobacco un-
der shade which has recently come into
vogue in the South and is also sug-
gestive of the ixiethod followed in
growing pineapples in Florida.

The boards, or perhaps it would be
better to say the slats, of the shelter for
a tea seed bed are separated by spaces of
I 1-2 to 2 inches, thus affording am-
ple opportunity for the entrance of the
direct rays of the sun. For the bene-

ORNAMENTAL HEDGE OF TEA PLANTS

fit of the individual who wishes to un-
dertake tea growing on a very modest
scale, it may be explained that such a
protective framework is not necessarily
expensive. It can be constructed of
any waste lumber or in the absence of
other material, a loosely woven wire
netting covered thinly with straw of
some kind will answer every purpose.
It is customary to plant the tea seeds
in holes not more than one and one-
half inches in depth, and only one seed
is placed in each hole. After the plant-
ing, the surface is raked and the nur-

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HOME-GROWN TEA IN THE SOUTH

223

sery bed covered evenly with some
kind of straw as a protection against
the cold. Pine straw and needles are
favorite coverlets. As the plants be-
gin to shoot above the ground, a lit-
tle of the straw is removed from time
to time, but some of the warmth-giv-
ing shield remains in place until au-
tumn, when the top of the wooden
frame is also removed. Many persons
who make a practice of raising only a
few tea plants at a time prefer to let
them get their start in boxes and then

PRUNING TEA BUSHES

age of three years, however, they must
be clipped or pruned down each spring
by means of knives or pruning shears.
At the growing number of Southern
homes where the owners kill two birds
with one stone by having an ornamen-
tal hedge of tea plants, the trimming
is done s3mMnetrically, and the effect is
decidedly pleasing.

The harvesting or plucking of the tea
leaves begins about the first of May
and ccMitinues until the middle of Oc-
tober. Only the bud and the first two
or three leaves on each stem are taken,
as the other leaves are generally too
tough to make good tea. The plucking
is done by pindiing off the stem with
the thumb and first finger just under

the last leaf to be plucked. As a rule,
picking takes place every week or two,
but the grower whose leaves are tardy
of development may find a compensa-
tion in the fact that they are pretty
certain to be of superior flavor.

As has been pointed out, the great
handicap heretofore to the extension
of the tea industry in the South has
been the generally prevalent belief that
technical knowledge was required to
successfully cure the tea. The Depart-
ment of Agriculture is now setting out
to the people of the South
green and black teas may be
illy handled by an intelligent
ing only such utensils as are to
md in every kitchen. Even
the use of a thermometer
is dispensed with, and the
home tea grower carries on
the curing of his product
merely by the aid of the
senses of touchy smell and
sight. The total apparatus
needed for curing tea by
this t w e n t i e t h-century
method consists of a four-
quart double boiler (a
saucepan with a hot-water
jacket), a large pan, pref-
erably agate-lined, a large
wooden spoon or ladle and
a kneading board in the
event that there is not
available an absolutely
clean kitchen table.
The program to be followed in cur-
ing black tea is to bring the leaves into
the .house the day before they are to
be made into tea and spread them thin-
ly and evenly on a clean table or floor,
where the process of withering is al-
lowed to go on for an interval of from
twelve to twenty- four hours. After
they have lost about one-half of their
weight by evaporation and feel like an
old kid glove, they are ready for roll-
ing. Half a pound or more of the
withered leaves are rolled, or kneaded,
at a time. For ten minutes the roll-
ing is light, in order that the leaves
may take on a twist or roll, and then
follows twenty minutes of increasing
pressure, until in the end there is ex-

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THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

erted all the force that can be applied.
Tight rolling makes a strong tea and
helps the flavor.

Following the rolling, the tfa leaves

wooden frames, and here they remain
for from two to three hours subjected
to fierce sunlight. Green tea, which,
likewise, has many friends among lov-
ers of the soothing beverage, is made
from the same class of leaves as the
black tea, but there are certain radical
differences in the treatment.

First of all, the tea leaves, instead
of being allowed to wither for half a
day or more and then ferment for a pe-
riod of from three to six hours, thus
producing oxidation, are placed, when
freshly picked, in a covered double
boiler. One pound of leaves is appor-
tioned to a four-quart boiler and is al-
lowed to remain in this sauce-pan, sur-
rounded by boiling water, for an inter-
val of from seven to nine minutes.
This treatment renders the leaves very
soft and facilitates the rolling, which is
done after the fashion of the black tea,

SIMPLE UTENSILS USED FOR CURING TEA

are formed in "balls" and allowed to
remain for from three to six hours in
a cool and preferably damp place,
where they ferment. After fermenta-
tion, the balls are broken up and the
tea spread about half an inch thick in
a large clean agate pan, which is placed
in the oven of the kitchen stove, be-
ing removed from time to time and
the tea turned. This drying continues
until the leaves are very brittle to the
touch and give off a slight odor, when
the tea is ready for use and may be
stored in tin boxes or cans that are
air-tight.

The sun-cured black tea, which is
highly esteemed by many tea-drinkers,
is obtained by the process just de-
scribed, but with a modification, in
that the withering is done in the sun,
preferably in July or August. In dry-
ing leaves in the sun, they are spread
upon trays made by tacking cloth on

ROLLING TEA

but for a slightly shorter space of time.
Finally, as in the case of the black tea.
the leaves are dried in an oven until
they are thoroughly brittle.

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THE THIRD ESTATE OF MRS.
CHITTERTON

By Louise McHenry

THE building had been con-
structed to meet the needs of
the suburban settlement, and
had successively accommo-
dated its interior to grocery, barber
and saloon purposes. But finally chil-
dren's g'lad voices in their singing and
playing had become a wholesome sub-
stitute for drunken brawls, and the
Free Kindergarten was an acknowl-
edged power in the community.

The road that lay in front of the lit-
tle building was oft traveled, for it
led from the city to the cemetery.
There it terminated among towering
evergreens, whose branches made aeo-
lian strings for the never-ending re-
quiem. The years brought denser foli-
age, and the shadows beneath became
more broken by the multiplying
mounds, but the harmony overhead in-
creased in minor grandeur.

In the rear of the building flowed a
river, muddy and malarial. But it lost
its small identity at last, to find a larg-
er wholeness in its absorption by the
majestic ocean, mud and malaria all
gone.

Between the two an ever-varying,
shifting quantity, humanity, that for a
day moved with the restlessness of the
river, and on the morrow found the
calm of the broken shadows and wind-
sung harmony.

Within the building, at one of the
small tables, sat a sweet-faced girl
overlooking the day's work of the lit-
tle fingers. A restless, gaunt woman
moved about, straightening chairs and
awaiting the completion of the task
and the time for "shutting up."

Suddenly she stopped before one of
the windows.

*'Law, law, ef there hain't ernother
one er them things er creepin' hits
length erlong this road, like er ugly

ole black snake ! Three funVel perces-
shuns already this day ! I git so tired
er lookin' at 'em I don't know whut ter
do. Hit duz seem like there hain't
nothin' but trouble en death in this
worl' nohow."

The young teacher looked up from
her work with an expression of sur-
prise.

"Well, Mrs. Qiitterton, who would
ever have thought to hear you talking
so ? I shall have to prescribe your own
remedy, *just prick up your ears, and
trot along and all will come right.'
But, really," and her voice became
sympathetic, "what is the matter with
you, Mrs. Chitterton?"

"Matter with me? Matter ernuff,
I kin tell you. Hit's been work, work,
work sense the day I wuz born. I
reckin there hain't nobody works ez
hard ez I duz en has ez little. Hit jes'
don't seem right. I wisht you'd look
at me! Blisters on my ban's, no
shoes on my feet, no decent dress ter
my back, en whut's more, no teeth in
my head. Here's my mouth all sunk in
en puckered up, looks like I'd been
eatin' persimmons out er season ; en if
I had anything seasonable I couldn't
eat hit, fur I hain't got nothin' ter
chaw with. En me wunst er purty
woman ! You know yourself how pur-
ty that picter er me is that's er-hangin'
up in my house."

Here she gave a subdued chuckle.

"Well, that's one thing, thank the
Lord, I cheated the rent man, groc'ry
man, doctor man en my gals outer."

The satisfaction found in the remem-
brance made her face glow with pleas-
ure.

"When the gen'lm'n come ter my
door, showin' me the great big, purty
picters he wuz carryin' erround, sez I,
jes' ter myself, mind you, I'm er goin'

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226

THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ter git one er me shore, en I did. En
I'll tell you now whut else Fm er-goin'
ter git. Fm er-goin' ter git me er set
er false teeth. Oh, you needn't look
surprised ! They won't cost no more'n
that picture did, en ef I done hit wimst,
I kin do hit ergin. I tell you I need
'em bad. Now, Miss 'Lizabeth, honest,
don't you think I oughter buy me er
set?"

"Of course I do, if you want them.
You know I believe a woman ought
to look just as pretty as she can. Why
don't you make that son-in-law pay
the rent, and Lottie Lee wear her old
clothes until you can save money
enough to get them ?"

"Don't talk ter me erbout Jack.
He's good ernuff ter look at, but he
hain't whut he oughter be, en more'n
the Lord knows that! He's one er
them fiddlin' kind er fellers that loves
ter go callaruppin' erround town, fur-
gittin' he's got er wife en baby. I ast
Ma'y when she wanted ter marry
him, why she would take the fust fel-
ler that come erlong. En she 'lowed
if he suited, 'twarn't no use waitin'.
I knowed she wam't actin' with
the sense she had er right ter be bom
with, but take him she would, fur bet-
ter er fur wuss, en hit shorely hez
proved fur wuss. Ma'y's a purty gal
herself, hain't onlike me when I wuz
young. She'd he'p me ef she could,
but she's done set herself down ez cr
mammy, en me ez er gran'-mammy,
when we both'd be better off at sum-
p'n else, I kin tell you. But I don't
keer, I've done made up my mind
whut I'm er-goin' ter do in spite uv
hit all. I hain't er goin' ter take no
more money frum you, until you owe
me ernuff ter git them teeth. I kin
trus' you, en I hain't er-goin' ter tell
nobody erbout hit.

"But — I wuz er-talkin' ter Miz Sim-
mons las' night, en she's done promis't
ter go with me ef she's able. Some-
how I feel kinder skeery erbout goin'
ter one er them places by myself."

"I thought you said you were not
going to tell any body."

"Well, pore ole Miz Simmons don't
count. Hit's jes' my own folks I

wanter keep outer my secrit. Ef they
don't know I'm er-savin' money, how
kin they git hit outer me? But ef I
had them teeth they'd hearten me up
mightily. En I kin tell you, ef hit
'twarn't fur this McKinley-garden,
I don't know whut I'd do."

She paused for breath and reflec-
tion, and then her tcme grew reproach-
ful.

"I reckin, ter add ter all my other
troubles, the fust thing I know, you'll
be marryin' en shuttin' up this place
fur good?"

"Don't you worry about that. I
promise you that you shall dream on
some of my wedding cake and eat all
you want of my wedding supper, if
you don't marry before I do! Isn't
that a fair bargain ?"

"*Don't talk erbout me er marryin'.
No danger er that. I'll tell you right
now, you're better off like you are.
Ef I'd knowed all I know now, there
hain't nothin' on this earth would er
made me marry at fust. But some-
times I do think when you wunst be-
gin there hain't no use ter stop.

"En the truth is, I do most wisht
sometimes now I wuz marri'd ter a
pusson that could keep me good
comp'ny."

"After what you say, I should think
you would be afraid to risk it again !"
"Hit does look that erway, but
there's resks erbout ev'rything you do.
I look at hit this erway. The fust
time I marri'd, I marri'd fur love, but
'twarn't no time till the love wuz gone
en then there wuz the man. But at
las' he went, too; en then, the secon'
time I marri'd, I marri'd to better my
lot. The man had er waggin' en team,
but law, the fust thing you knowed,
them bosses laid down en died, en
there wuz the man ergin.

"Some ways I look at hit, the Lord's
been good ter me. If I should turn
sech er fool es to part with my librity
ergin, en marry the third time, hit'll
be fur comp'ny, I kin tell you. I do
git mighty lonesome. I go uv evenin's
ter preachin', en they have mighty
purty sermons out here, but sense I
wore myself out so constan' 'nussin'

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THE THIRD ESTATE OF MRS. CHITTERTON

227

my las' ole man, hit seems like I
hain't never tuck ter the house sense.
I have er feelin like I wanter be trav-
elin'.

"Now, ef I had them teeth, I know
I'd be more contint. How kin you
expect anybody ter feel well, livin' on
cabbage en mush! Law, law, I've
done et emuff cabbage ter stock er
cabbage patch. The truth is, I've jest
wore myself out on cabbage. En
mush — well, I have hit sometimes, jest
fur er change."

''How about fruit? Can't you eat
that?"

"Fruit? Law me, no! Apples is
too hard. Oranges I never git my
ban's on, let alone my jaws; en figs,
they're orful; I've tried em. Hit
looks like the more I chaw on 'em, the
bigger they g^t en the fuller my
mouth. But there's one kind — ^per-
nanners! They jest melt in my
mouth ; en ice-cream !

"But whut's the use er talkin' er
them things, when I hain't able even
ter buy grease emuff ter turn er
pan-cake. Now, you know I need
them teeth, so don't you bring me no
more money 'till I'm ready ter git
em.

So it was agreed. The weeks sped
by, and the money for the services of
the janitress accumulated until the
teeth could almost be seen a gleaming
reality in her sunken jaws.

One morning a cheery "good morn-
ing" from the Kindergartner brought
from Mrs. Chitterton no answering
salutation, but her face became trans-
fixed by an expression of solemn awe.

"Law, Miss 'Lizabeth, my little
gran'baby's done left us. The ma-
lary he inherited frum that river taken
right hold er him en he went out in a
minit, hit looks like. We're in er heap
er trouble down ter my house. Jack
sez he's goin' to quit his fiddlin' en go
ter work. Ma'y, she's mos' broken-
hearted, pore young thing; Lottie
Lee's done cried her eyes out nearly,
en the Uttle baby, hit's er layin' there
jcs' er waitin' to be put erway. We do
want ter put hit erway purty. So I've
come ter ast you fur the money; I

reckin' the Lord knows better'n me en
maybe I don't need them teeth like I
thought I did. Hit duz seem hard,
though, ter lose whut I've done paid
already fur meas'rin' my mouth."

As the bills were handed to her,
and the look of eagerness was changed
to one of hopeless disappointment, the
thought flashed in upon Miss Eliza-
beth that in meeting the Philistine
host of care, want, drudgery, and un-
fulfilled desires, perhaps, she mi^t
find in the false teeth the strength
that lurked for Samson in the jaw-
bone of the ass.

The funeral over, she returned to
her work a person of subdued conse-
quence. Crepe upon a door-knob, and
a hearse before a doorway, for a time,
set the in-dwellers thereof apart from
other men. They dignify the lowest
hovel, spreading abroad the news that
the strangest incident that comes into
all lives, has lost its strangeness for
one. The floating folds of crepe,
be they white or black, mockingly
taunt the living with their ignorance,
for in them is symbolized the wisdom
of the dead.

During the spring overflow of the
river Mrs. Chitterton failed to come
to her work, but her daughter brought
news of her serious illness, so a few
days later Miss Elizabeth took the bv
street leading to her home. When she
entered the bare but tidy room, a little
crumpled figure lay in the bed before
her.

'*Law, now. Miss 'Lizabeth, is that
you? I've been er-lookin' fur you, vn
hit seemed like you never wuz er-
comin'."

"Yes'm, I'm mighty sick — pneu-
mony er the lungs, the doctor sez.
You see, I got out er wood en coal, en
the river wuz floatin' down so much
purty drift wood I went ter git my
share. Whut with ketchin' uv hit, en
totin' uv hit up, en my shoes er-leakin'
I caught more'n I bargained fur. The
doctor sez I may not pull through, but
hit don't make no diff 'unce, I reckin. I
did hate ter be sick right now. Pore
ole Miz Simmons nex' door is done
dead uv her cancer. They do say she

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

died orful hard. I'd planned ter help
lay her out en go ter the funVel, but I
wuz too busy with my own sickness.

**Eh law, Mr. Simmons*ll have er
lonesome time uv hit, pore ole soul!
I know whut hit is ter be \eV by your-
self."

'*And that's just what you've done
to me. I've had a dreadful time with-
out you, getting some one to do your
work to suit me. I don't believe I'll
ever find anybody that can exactly fill
your place, so you must hurry and get
well. I have thought of you a great
deal since you have been sick, and
wondered if you are still planning to
get those teeth you used to talk
about."

"Law, no ; I reckin the Lord never
meant fur me ter have 'em. I have mos'
come ter b'leeve He's done sent this
extry trouble on me fur bein' so 'vain-
glorious, en er layin' ter git 'em. No,
no, my days is done numbered, en
I'll go ter my grave without them
teeth. But the Lord knows His way
warn't natcherlly mine, en er many er
time I've had ter fill my mouth with
pray'r ter keep f'um missin' 'em."

"But, Mrs. Chitterton, suppose
somebody should come and offer to
buy them for you ; what would you
do?"

"Jes* lis'n at the chile puttin' tempta-
tion in the thoughts uv er pore weak
creatur' ! This here mis'ry in my side
keeps er remindin' me not to be ca'i'd
erway with the vanity uv the worl',
en I don't reckin' hit would be becom-
in' in me ter say that I would take
em.

**Well, according to my way of
thinking you would be very foolish if
you did not. That 'misery in your
side* has to do with your lungs and
not your teeth, or your conscience
either."

So saying. Miss Elizabeth placed a
package in the sick woman's hands.
She trembled with excitement as she
opened it, and the gleaming false set
fell out, but the warmth of her hand-
grasp proved the sincerity of her joy.

"You'll see, they'll do more fur
me than all the physic the doctor's

been pourin' down me, fur now I've
got ter git well ter wear 'em."

And in truth, the speediness of her
recovery seemed almost miraculous.
She returned to her work, however,
with no change in her appearance.

**Mrs. Chitterton, what in the world
have you done with your teeth?"

"Done with my teeth? Wropt' em
up in tishy paper, en locked 'em up
in my top burey drawer — put erway
fur Sunday en dress up. You never
'spected me ter wear them teeth ev'ry
day, did you ? You don't ketch me er-
doin' that. I'm er goin' ter take good
keer of 'em, so they'll las' me er
long time. They's nobody ter give me
no more when them are wore out, en
nobody knows that better'n me."

No protestations could make her al-
ter her decision, so the Kindergarten
closed the spring term without her
ever having appeared on dress parade.

Upon the reopening in the fall, Miss
Elizabeth, seeking the services of her
old janitress, knocked in vain at the
door of her former residence. At
length the barking of a dog in the next
yard caused an inquiring figure to
appear from within that cottage. The
face was round and jolly, and upon
seeing the visitor, a double row of
teeth became suddenly conspicuous.

"Do you know what has become of
Mrs. Chitterton?" asked the young
lady.

"Mrs. Chitterton?" and the smile
gained breadth. "Whut! that ole
sunken-jawed woman that useter live
over there ? Why, she's done lef ' these
parts no longer ergo than yistiddy, but
she ast me, Miz Simmons," and there
was a twinkle in her eye and a con-
fidential tone in her voice, "that's who
I am, ter tend ter all her biz'ness fur
her. Have you got er message fur
her?"

Then a joyous laugh rang out.

"Law, Miss 'Lizabeth,I don't b'leeve
you knowed me; now, did you?
Didn't I tell you there'd be more
physic fur me in them teeth than all
the doctor's medicine ? Jes' come right
in. Hit shorely does my eyes good ter
ketch sight er you ergin."

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"t^

>Oi

Laugh and the World Laughs With You

y^^

DEDICATION

A Joker of note in his prime,
Wrote a sally and cried, **0h, sub-
lime!''
So great was his pride,
That he laughed till he died,
A tnctim himself of his crime!

* «
AN ECHO OF THE SUMMER

It was August.

He had taken her to the beach.

He had spent half his week's salary
on her. (He was going the spend the
other half before he got back.)

They spoke of eyes.

His were brown, and he was gazing
with them very lovingly at her A^hen
she said she preferred blue eyes to all
others.

"Blue eyes indicate deceit," he de-
murred.

She looked out at the wild waves.

"No deceit there," she replied.

( Wasn't nice of her, was it?)

They spoke of hair.

He let his chubby hand lie on the
water an instant, and then threw some
of the green spray over his head —
playfully, harmlessly, as it were.

She said brown hair looked awful
when wet, anyway.

"But, my dear," he observed, hasti-
ly adjusting his poor bedraggled curls,
smoothing 'em down as if to take some
of the despised color out, "scientists,
you know, say that dark hair is a sign
of strength."

'*And are you strong?" she asked.

{Wasn't nice of her, was it?)

The); spoke of statuary.

Near the Pavilion they passed a

:By Walter Pulitzer:

huge wooden figure bearing the in-
scription, ** Neptune."

"Ah, what noble proportions!" she
cried, casting glances of comparison at
her escort.

( Wasn't nice of her, was it?)

She made a short cut from statue
to stature.

She spoke of the dignity and state-
liness of "a tall, lithe man."

He groaned inwardly as a picture of
himself, toying with dumb-bells every
morning at 6 a.m., came to his mind.

'*Napoleon was my height my dear/'
he said meekly.

"Napoleon ? I never heard of him."
she said. "Some museum freak, I sup-
pose."

(Wasn't nice of her, was it?)

Nevertheless, after the campaign of
pink lemonade, merry-go-rounds, loop
the loops, mazes and the rest — what do
you suppose? Why, this poor male
creature of faults suddenly turned
round and asked the Peerless One to
share them (the faults) with him.
(These Spiteful Things are usually the
kind that win our hearts!)

And she just said, "Yes," and took
him, faults and all.

Which proves that:
A woman says, "Give me the Ideal!''
WTien she's glad to accept the Real !
* *
HOW SILLY

"Why do you call Miss Footlighte
a color artiste?"

"Because she paints, of course."
''Oh, but that's an old joke."
"Well, she draws, too."
''Draws what?"
"Her salary!"

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230 THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

NEVER SAY DIE^— T '*But they were never produced,"

^ , . J . . broke in the trembling^ ex-Worldite.

For chirodopists we rec- .Qh, that's different," said St. Pe-

ommendadietof..... Corn ^^^ ''You may enter."

For car conductors Jam

For printers Pi * *

For autoists Mincemeat cnniM FOPru^T

For hen-pecked husbands Ginger SO SOON FORGOT

For after-dinner speakers Taffy she (as ifrecollecting)— Letme see.

For insurance presidents Dough Haven't I met you before somewhere?

« * He — I should think you had. I'm

the man you were engaged to back in

SAME TURKEY juiy.

First Boarder — Well, how did you

find the Thanksgiving turkey ? AH !

Second Boarder — I can't say I found

it much improved since last Sunday. "Have you ever heard the Declara-
tion of Independence ?"

* * "I have."
IN CHICAGO "Where?"

"In the divorce courts !"
"Is he an American?

"No; a BostonianI" * *

* * PEPPER-GRAMS

WILLING TO STAND A GOOD Some have their fortunes told by

DEAL cards— others have it taken from

Winifred— But I think I ought to ^^^ , . , .

tell you that my eldest brother is a , The only time gas seems cheap is

New York Senator. ^"[i"^ ^ P^l'V""^^ campaign.

Bertram-^o matter, pet. Even that ", "^^Tu ".i^^"^ how much worse

shall not separate us! we could be they would love us more,

*^ Don t hitch your wagon to a — ^bar.

* * It would appear that the stork has
EXPENSES "^^ y^^ exactly succeeded in getting

into New York society.

First Motorist — Do you find a tour- How much more comfortably one

ing car a great expense ? can discuss the evils of poverty on a

Second Motorist — ^Do you refer to full stomach!

the consumption of gasoline or the On the Road of Love a kiss is al-

fines ? ways the shortest way round.

NARROW ESCAPE

o ^ . , , , AUTUMN SONG
St. Peter wondered why the weary

joumeyer carried such a bundle of The bathing suit has had its day —

manuscripts under his arms. It's knell is sounded. «

"Before you enter the gates," said We mourn its subtile, fatal sway

he, "you must tell me what all these In terms unbounded,

papers are." But presently, when back in town

"They are librettos of musical come- From our vacation,

dies I wrote while on Earth," was the We'll have its mate, the opera gown,

answer. As consolation!

St. Peter shook his head gravely. The bathing suit has had its day,

"Fm afraid I can't let — " Yet the world continues decollette.

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SENTIMENT AND STORY

By Robert L. Taylor

MUSIC IN THE AIR

Referring casually to music, there has
been a surplus of the chin kind in the
United States Senate for many years. Chin
musicians are so comnion as to excite no
remarks, save those they make themselves.
Wherefore, when an opportunity for some
other kind of music comes to hand, for we
all love harmony, and get very little of it
in these days of plot and counterplot

The other kind of a musician who has
seeped into the Senate is "Fiddling Bob"
Taylor, of Tennessee. He makes no pre-
tense of virtuosity, but he can play The
Arkansas Traveler and Turkey in the
Straw; and right here is the proper place
to insist that if he will play one or the
other, or both, sometime, when certain of
his fellow- Senators are moved to make a
speech, he will confer a priceless boon on
a talk-submerged Republic.

"Fiddling Bob" succeeds the brilliant
Carmack, who went out last March in a
welter of words that wrecked the ship
subsidy bill. Just why a fiddler and story-
teller should have been sent by Tennessee
to replace Carmack is a question that Ten-
nessee alone can answer, and Tennessee
appears to be well satisfied with the job,
with no explanatory answer to make.

A GOVERNOR IN THE FAMILY

The new Senator comes from a family
that is versatile in politics, even for Ten-
nessee, where the desire to hold ofiice
comes with the first tooth, and does not
leave with the last one. The Taylor fami-

ly went early into politics, and stayed
there long. Such little technicalities as
party lines never bothered them. They
desired the emoluments. The father Tay-
lor, Nathaniel by name, was in the House
of Representatives at various times, each
time as a representative of a different party
or faction. He early learned the sound
sense of that well-known maxim: "Sweet
is the usufruct of versatility"; and when
the boys grew up, Alf, who is "Fiddling
Bob's" brother, was assigned to the Re-
publican party and Bob was made a Demo-
crat, while Jim was a general utility man.
It was as complete an organization to catch
them coming and going as the country
affords.

Alf seemed to have the better part of
this for a time, because the Republican
majority in the First Tennessee District
comprises about all the votes cast. He
went to Congress three times, but one year
the Republicans had a row and "Fiddling
Bob" was sent to the House as a Demo-
crat. Alfs advantage was more apparent
than real — which is a fine, old, crusted,
statesmanlike phrase — for when the boys
reached out for bigger things "Fiddling
Bob" gathered the persimmons.

The Taylor family thought it would be
well to have a governor in the family.
Following their invariable rule of proced-
ure, they cinched things for the Taylor
family. There was no chance to lose, for
Bob took the Democratic nomination and
Alf took the Republican nomination. Bob
won. He was elected a second time and,
after a rest, went in for the third time,

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THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

while Alf has tried vainly for office ever
since. You see, the Republicans in Ten-
nessee are quite congested. There are a lot
of them in the eastern part of the state,
and they are so scarce in the rest of the
territory that they really do not count, nor
are they usually counted.

All was not honey and roses for Bob,
however. He tried twice to get elected to
the Senate. Then he retired from politics.
When he turned the office of Governor
over to Benton McMillin, he said: "Poli-
tics is a vulture that is feeding on my
vitals. I am through. I am going back to
the sun-kissed mountains of East Tennes-
see, where I can rest on my back in the
fragrant grass and reach up and tickle the
toes of the angels."

That was mere rhetoric. Bob didn't
tickle the toes of a single angel. Instead,
he went on the lecture platform, together
with his fierce political opponent, his
brother Alf, and made much money. Then
he started a magazine. All this time the
old, inbred Taylor desire was working.
He needed an office to be completely hap-
py, and he decided to run for the Senate
against Carmack.

Carmack is red-haired. He is also a
handy man in debate. Bob didn't think
of that at first, and when he made his first
public announcement he said, in off-hand
way, that if Ed Carmack came on the
stump with him it would rain red hair in
Tennessee for three days. Carmack im-
mediately replied that he was quite willing
to contribute the hair for this remarkable
hirsute shower if Taylor would undertake
to make the rain. He tried to get on the
stump with Taylor, offering his glistening
poll as a sacrifice; but, when Carmack got
to where Taylor was, Taylor wasn't there.

Tennessee has veered toward the water-
wagon for some years. There are saloons
in but four towns in the state now. Car-
mack charged the saloon men with trying
to beat him. He knew which way the wind
blew across the mint patches. This
aroused much indignation, but it didn't
help Carmack any; for, next day, Taylor
said he had been a friend of prohibition for
years and years. The ancient Taylor fe-
tish worked. He was elected.

They called Taylor "The Knight of the
White Rose," over in East Tennessee.
Carmack said one day that he should be
called "The Knight of the White Feather."
Taylor wasn't miffed a bit. He opened
his next speech with a reference to Henry
of Navarre, and all his followers stuck
white chicken-feathers in their hats. The
Carmack men wore red feathers and red
roses, and it was the old case of Lancaster
over York again.

NO SECTIONALISM FOR THEM

Taylor is as versatile as his family. He
can make a speech to a Grand Army meet-

ing that will start the boys in blue to sing-
ing Marching Through Georgia and stump-
ing around the hall, and, on the same af-
ternoon, if it is necessary, he can refer
so tenderly to the Lost Cause that those
at the Confederate reunion weep so copi-
ously they don't have to sprinkle the streets
for a week. In politics he holds, with
Lean Jimmy Jones, of Tennessee, that if
the tariff is too high, lower it; and if it's
too low, h'ist it.

Taylor is a remarkable story-teller and
a talker who can make an audience laugh
or cry. He was a great favorite on the
lecture platform. He shines in a small com-
pany, and can spin yarns for an hour or a
week or a month, all of them about the
South. He will fill a long-felt want in
the Senate cloak-rooms, for, now that Joe
Blackburn has gone, there are few story-
tellers left. And Taylor has this advan-
tage: His stories end somewhere.

"Fiddling Bob" will not set fire to the
Ephesian dome, nor to any other dome —
there being two, one on the Capitol and
one on the Library — but he will probably
inject a spice of humor into the Senate,
and they need humor up there mightily.
He loves to pose as a simple, kindly soul,
but do not mark him on that basis. He
knows what he is doing every minute of
the day. His story-telling and fiddling get
him things he might not be able to get any
other way.

When he came to Washington, last
March, to watch Congress close, he stayed
at the Raleigh Hotel. A number of cor-
respondents of Tennessee papers went up
to see him on the morning of March 5.
Bob was just waking up. As the corre-
spondents came in, Bob asked one of them
to send downstairs and get a "niggah" for
him.

The bellboy came: "Rastus," said Bob
— "Rastus, fetch me a gourd o' water and
take my boots out an' taller 'em up. I
ain't feelin' like goin' plumb down to the
spring."

Of course, the simple, kindly representa-
tive of the Taylor family didn't know that
would be telegraphed back to Tennessee,
where it would make a hit with the farm-
ers.

Of course not !

[We publish the above tribute from
the Saturday Evening Post, and feel it
our duty to reciprocate the honor thus
paid one of the editors of this maga-
zine by no less a celebrity than George
Horace Lorimer.]

George Horace Lorimer, one of the
most unique characters in the modern
literary world, was bom in Louisville,
Kentucky, some time during the nine-

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SENTIMENT AND STORY

233

teenth century. He first opened his
eyes to the light of day in a gorgeous
palace^ was fed with a silver spoon
and rocked in an onyx cradle with
golden rockers. He was swaddled in
purple and fine linen, and his safety
pins were set with rubies. He was
dandled on the knees of a score of
black mammies, who by turns enter-
tained the dimpled cherub in his wak-
ing hours and soothed him into the
fairyland of dreams with their old-
time lullabies. Even in his early baby-
hood no less than a half-dozen profess-
ors attended the royal nursery to su-
perintend his education. In the run of
the years he graduated at Yale, Ox-
ford and Heidelberg, and subsequently
took special courses in psychology,
palmistry and poker. He was per-
mitted to remain in Louisville just long
enough to grasp the idea of Kentucky
politics and to become an epicure in
the realm of .mint- juleps, and was then
hurried away to Pennsylvania that he
might escaf)e the jealousy of Henry
Watterson and the sweet allurements
of the mint-bed; and besides, the
South was too small and too far be-
hind the car of prc^ess to hold him
within its borders; its intellectual
firmament was not high enough or
broad enough when the time should
come for him to spread his wings, and
so he was borne away to Philadelphia.
But when the time came for him to
unleash his intellectual powers there
were no lions and tigers in the jungle
fierce enough to engage and amuse his
royal ambition. His family despaired
of finding for him in mortal affairs a
niche commensurate with his lofty at-
tainments. Unhappily for America, it
is bereft of a nobility and nothing of-
fered in that line. His family went to
Washington and examined the presi-
dential chair, only to discover that it
was too small for him. The profes-
sions were scorned ; he would not stoop
to the Supreme Bench.

But one day his noble father, while
rummaging in a second-hand furni-
ture establishment, found the old chair
in which the great philosopher, Benja-
min Franklin, sat and the whole Lori-

mer family shouted "Eureka!*' And
they scooped it out a little to make it
hold George Horace and give him el-
bow room. There he sits to-day pour-
ing out his wit and wisdom like mo-
lasses from the bung-hole of a barrel ;
there he sits, his throbbing brain
luminous with thoughts that flash
through the columns of the Saturday
Evening Post like the vivid lightnings
that chased each other down the kite
strings of his immortal predecessor,
graciously permitting Poor Richard's
prestige occasional prominence. Edu-
cated • away above the earth, what
wonder that his regal spirit scorns the
common herd and laughs at tallowed
boots and the gourd at the spring!
Surrounded by the State House build-
ers at Harrisburg, the wealthy politi-
cal grafters of Philadelphia and the glit-
ter of gilded gayety in Pittsburg, what
wonder that he disdains the plebeian
caravan of Tennessee and wonders why
they elected a fiddler to the United
States Senate! No drop of vulgar
sweat has ever stained the inmiaculate
linen of a Lorimer, and therefore
George Horace curls his lips with con-
tempt for a Tennessean who "seeped"
into Congress through much perspira-
tion. One may imagine how easily a
man standing on the lofty peak from
which George Horace views the planet
judges his fellowmen and denies them
the privilege of setting the domes of
Capitols and libraries afire. It is one
of the curiosities of the cult to which
George Horace belongs — the cult
which furnishes the virtuous regulators
of political morals and tastes — that it
can fawn upon its own perfection in
the mirror of its own ineffable conceit
and deal out to the struggling South
unmeasured chunks of wisdom and
moral advice from its tripod in the
shadow of the Pennsylvania State
House, that stupendous monument of
graft and robbery which cost four mil-
lion dollars to build and nine million
dollars to decorate and trim, and in the
very center of the great Quaker city
in which eighty thousand fraudulent
votes were unearthed at one election.

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

I say it is one of the curiosities of this
cult that it believes that there is neither
brain power nor real nobility of soul
remaining in the land of monuments
and memories since George Horace left
it. Tennesseans meekly bow to the
lash and confess their ignorance of
such a standard of enlightenment re-
garding the stupidity that inspires them
to choose their servants from a class
that does not wear side-whiskers and
patent-leather shoes, together with the
collar of such institutions as the Penn-
sylvania Railroad and the State House
Commission.

Old Time, monarch of the ages, is
slowly but surely digging the g^ve of
the universe. His tremendous forces of

destruction are slowly working changes
in the physics of the spheres that point
to universal death ; star after star has
disappeared from the heavens within
the memory of ephemeral man; the
vast planetary spaces are filled with the
dust of disintegrating worlds ; the in-
numerable suns that powder the skies
of night are dying and the planets
themselves are cooling into the chill of
death. The hour must come when the
measureless depths now so glorious
with light, so tranquil with law and
cosmic order, must feel the shock of
an awful cataclysm which will end in
the wreck of matter and the crush of
worlds, but welcome the cataclysm if it
will only leave us George Horace!

SENATOR TAYLOR'S WELCOME TO TEXANS ON

TEXAS DAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1907, DURING

HOME-COMING WEEK

No greater honor was ever conferred
upon me than that which turns me
loose, like Byron's watch-dog, to greet
these Texas-Tennesseans and bay
deep-mouthed welcome as they draw
near home, and to say to them that
the eyes of two millions of their kith
and kin mark their ccMning and look
brighter when they come. Could I but
speak as Byron wrote, or weave the
sentiments of the human heart into the
soft witchery of words as none but
Burns could weave them, I could not
even then impart the pleasure that
heaves the bosom of the mother state
to-day.

It is a glorious day for Tennesse-
ans, and here in the shadow of our
proud old Capitol I come to break the
news to you that anxious hearts are
waiting everywhere, and eager lips
are calling from the hills and
hollows: "Come back to the val-
ley and the glen, boys, come back
to the old folks at home." But
I cannot conceal the impulse to
tell you that it is in my heart to re-
proach you that you ever left your na-
tive hills, for not since Satan leaped
from glory — not since Adam fell from

grace — ^has man or angel lost so much
as when a Tennessean leaves Tennes-
see. I would not for all the wealth of
Dixie wound the pride of Texas or
pluck a star from her crown of glory,
but rather let me rejoice with you that
she sits upon the throne as the Empire
State of the Union. And yet I can-
not repress the inclination to remind
you that if Texas is the greatest, Ten-
nessee is the fairest, the loveliest and
the most beautiful — fairest when sum-
mer sows her fields with myriad colors
and fills the air with wings ; loveliest
when autumn draws the misty veil of
Indian summer and turns the forest
into a dream ; most beautiful

When Winter comes with silent tread
And on his heart lays Autumn's head,
And on her heart his jeweled hand,
And stills that heart forever.

Texas has the broadest landscapes,
but Tennessee has the highest moun-
tains; Texas has the most sunshine,
but Tennessee has the most moon-
shine; Texas soil is deeper, but there
is a quality in the soil of Tennessee
that sweetens the hog and ^ums the
hominy into honey. There is some-

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SENTIMENT AND STORY

235

thing in her air that makes men strong
and vigorous and turns the women's
lips into cherries and their cheeks into
roses. But above all other considera-
tions, it is the land of your nativity ;
it is the land where you romped and
frolicked in the ecstasy of life's happy
morning; it is the land where you
learned your first lessons and received
the first inspirations of hope, and
where you held your sweetheart's hand
in yours down in the shady lane:

Where you stopped to gather chestnuts
On the longest route to school,

Where you used to play Mazeppa
On the lank and lazy mule;

Where you slipped away a-fishin'
For the gay and festive trout :

Where you broke the holy Sabbath
And your mother wore you out.

It was here that your fancy first took
wing and made its first flight in the
realm of dreams ; it was here that the
impressionable boy heard the first call
of glory and you knelt before nature's
majesty to receive her royal stroke of
knighthood ; it was here that you spent
the joyous days of your youth. Oh,
how sweet are the memories of youth 1

But its pleasures are like poppies

spread,
You seize the flower — ^its bloom is

shed;
Or like the snowfall on the river,
A moment white, then melts forever.

Long years have intervened and the
hopes of youth have melted into a mist
of memories, and you have returned to
the shrine from whence you started in
pursuit of your dreams, to follow once
again the paths your childish feet have
trodden a thousand times before; to
drink from the springs that cooled
your thirst before you ever dreamed
of a windmill ; to look once more upon
the green fields and bright streams
around the old homestead where you
were bom and raised, and to sit at the
hearthstone that once glowed with the
light of love and happiness when she
whom you called mother sat there in
the old armchair, and sang the sweet

old songs of long ago, as she wielded
the knitting needles till the rythmic
movement of her fingers was the very
music of motion, and the big white ball

of yam cut capers on the floor.

•

And the needles danced like witches.
And the nimble fingers flew,

As they deftly threw the stitches.
And the big white stocking grew.

You will be rapt into a reverie
and visions of the happy past will open
before you. You will see again the
old-time fiddler tune his fiddle and
sweep the vibrant strings, and watch
the swinging of his bow with his body
to and fro, keeping time in a sort of
runic rhyme with the clatter of dwin-
dling shoe-soles on the floor; and
again you will dance all night by the
moonshine light and go home with the
girls in the morning. You will catch
echoes of songs that are sung no more,
and hear peak of laughter that long
since died away, and feel the touch of
vanished hands -and the warmth of
kisses from lips that now are dust. O
Memory, thou hast power to lift the
veil and let the spirit look back unon
that sweet fairy land on the frontier of
life, but thou canst not lead us hither
to the loved and lost of other days!
All thy faces and forms are phantoms,
all thy songs are dreams ! The near-
est we can approach to them is to rest
under the trees where they once rested
and sing the songs they used to sing,
and dream under the roof where they
once dreamed, and sit down at the fire-
side in the chairs they sat in and there
commune with the blessed past, and
swear alliance to the home of our
childhood.

The noblest passion that heaves the
human breast is the love of native
land. No passing -flood of years can
quench that flame — it burns on for-
ever. It is the kindly light that leads
these sons and daughters of the Lone
Star State back to seek the hills of
Tennessee. And why should I say
welcome, except to give expression to
that feeling which thrills the mother's
heart when she throws her arms
around the necks of her long-absent

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

children and whispers through her
tears of joy, ** Welcome, thrice wel-
come !"

Ladies and Gentlemen : The air is
full of welcome for you to-day. The
latch string flaps welcome on the door
jamb; the hills shout welcome down
in "Giles County, Pulaski Post Of-
fice ;" the waters ripple welcome away
up on Calf- Killer; and the hens
cackle welcome and the roosters crow
welcome over in Greasy Cove, and the
lips of the whole state are puckered
with welcome, all the way from Poor
Valley to Memphis, and from Goose
Creek to the uttermost ends of Tennes-
see. The foot of McGregor is on his
native heath and the kettle boils wel-
come on the hearth, and the pot bub-
bles welcome on the stove, and the
cakes are on the griddle, and the chick-
ens are in the skillet, and the odor of
fried ham floats out on the mellow air
and the red gravy runs, and the big
bronze biscuit lie soaking in the sop,
and there is welcome everywhere.

Come when you're looked for, come

without warning.
Come in the evening, come in the

morning ;
Take all in sight when you turn loose

the latch,
And kiss every God-blessed girl you

can catch.

Is it not worth the lifetime of ab-
sence to feel the joy of coming home?
The old mother state is proud to greet
you, every one of you, for she looks
upon her noble sons and daughters
from the Lone Star State as heroes
and heroines bringing back the story
of conquest and the building of an em-
pire in three-quarters of a century. I
sometimes tremble when I think of
what might have been the fate of the
mighty West but for Tennesseans, who
went out to subdue the savage wilds,
and carry civilization and starched
shirts to where the tomahawk gleamed
and the catamount screamed, and to
plant Old Glory in the very citadel of
the prairie dog and the owl.

No braver men ever lived than those
who parted the branches to peer into

the wilderness in the earlier days of
the W^est, and those who followed close
at their heels, to plant that vast system
of civic institutions which in less than
half a century have reached a gran-
deur and perfection which stagger be-
lief and is unprecedented in all the his-
tory of the world.

Jefferson rubbed Aladdin's lamp in
1803, 2tnd lo ! a new empire loomed full
on his view, and empires have been
looming ever since. But the gate
through which the stream of civiliza-
tion has been pouring towards the set-
ting sun with such wonderful results
was first pried open on the border line
of East Tennessee — the land of the
eagle and John Sevier, and oh, what
a beautiful land it is ! Shall I describe
it, not in my own words, but in the
language of an East Tennessean whose
lips are dust?

"I was born on the Watauga, which
in the Indian vernacular means beauti-
ful river, and beautiful river it is.
There I have stood in my childhood
and looked down through its glossy
waters and beheld a heaven below, and
then looked up and beheld a heaven
above, like two mirrors each reflect-
ing in the other its moons and planets
and trembling stars ; and from its bank
of ivy and hemlock, of rock and pine,
there stretches a vale, back to the dis-
tant mountains as beautiful and ex-
quisite as any in Italy or Switzerland ;
and there stand the great Roane, the
great Black and the great Smoky
Mountains, around whose dizzy
heights the clouds gather of their own
accord even in the brightest day. There
have I seen the great storm-spirit go
and take his evening nap in his pavilion
of darkness ; and then I have seen him
aroused at midnight and like a giant
refreshed by slumber awake the tem-
pest and let loose the red lightnings
that shot along the mountain tops for
a thousand miles swifter than an
eagle's wing in heaven. Then I have
seen them get up and dance like an-
gels of light in the bosom of the cloud
to the music of that grand organ of
nature, whose keys seemed to have
been touched by the fingers of divinity

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SENTIMENT AND STORY

237

that resounded in thunder tones
t!i rough the universe.

**Then I have seen the darkness
drift away beyond the horizon, and
the morning get up Hke a queen from
her saffron bed and come forth from
her palace in the sun, and while old
night fled before her beautiful face to
his hiding pl^ce at the pole, she lighted
with a smile the green vale and beauti-
ful river where I was bom and played
in my childhood.

"O beautiful hand of the mountains,
with thy sun-painted cliffs ! how can I
ever forget thee?"

It was the irrepressible men who set-
tled there and their sturdy allies from
Virginia and Carolina that gave Brit-
ish power its death-blow at King's
Mountain and returned to drive the
savage from the Mississippi Valley.
The destiny of the New World seemed
to be shifted into the hands of Ten-
nesseans. They broke the power and
crushed the spirit of the allied tribes
at Nickajack and the Horseshoe. They
routed an army at New Orleans that
was itself to conquer the greatest war-
rior in all history at Waterloo. They
taught Texans how to die for their
country at Alamo ; and at San Jacinto
they led the battle line that liberated
Texas ; and they made it the broadest,
the richest and most progressive state
in the American Union.

Under the direction of a Tennessee
President, they followed Scott and
Taylor to victory in Mexico and ex-
tended the territory of the young re-
public until it touched the two great
oceans that divide the world.
* * *

If I had wealth at my command, I
would build a temple of fame for Ten-
nessee. I would put in it the statues
of Jackson and Polk and Johnson —
Tennessee's three great presidents.
Around them I would place the statues
of Sevier and Robertson and Crockett
and Houston, and around them statues
of Hugh Lawson White and John Bell
and Thomas Benton and John H. Rea-
gan. I would put in it statues of
Maury and Farragut. I would put in
it the heroic figures of Forrest and

P>atc and Cheatham and William H.
Jackson, and around them I would
place the statues of Harris and the
Browns and Gentry and Henry and
Grundy and Peyton. And right in
the center of them all I would put the
figure of my ideal of a hero, and on its
base I would carve the name of Sam
Davis.

If I were a man of wealth I would
build a monument that should touch
the clouds to commemorate the glory
of Tennesseans in the cabinet and in
the forum and on a hundred glorious
battle fields. With a history like ours,
so rich with all that makes a people
f;reat, where is the son of the old
Volunteer State, wherever he may
roam, who does not love her rocks and
rills and all her templed hills, and
whose heart does not swell with pride
to know that she is as prosperous and
happy as any commcmwealth under the
flag? Where are the wandering feet
that do not long to press her sod, and
the absent souls that do not sigh to
rest once more in the shade of her
trees?

It is told of an old Tennessean that
he found his way to Boston and gorged
himself with baked beans, and when he
fell asleep a nightmare came and sat
upon his breast, and he dreamed that
he died and went to heaven, and the
angel at the golden gate shook his head
and said : "Go hence ; no soul has ever
entered here from Boston." And the
Tennessean told of Tennessee and the
Hermitage and old Andy and the
mountains and the blue grass and the
women and the horses and the water
and the air till the angel was melted to
tears, and the golden gates swung
wide. The Tennessean entered in and
as he sauntered down the glittering
street he suddenly saw a friend from
Tennessee chained to the jasper wall,
and he turned to the angel who attend-
ed him and shouted, "What ho! Ser-
aph, loose these jeweled manacles and
tell me why my friend is thus
chained ?" And the angel fluttered his
glistening wings and answered, "We
have to chain *em or they'll all go back
to Tennessee !"

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238

THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

But I repeat, I would not touch the
jealous chord in the heart of Texans
by too much praise of Tennessee. Nor
would I chide the Tennesseans who
have built their homes where the gulf
breeze blows, for it is a land of milk
and honey, and yet it requires a world
of courage ior a man to load up his
kettle and his kids to seek fortune and
fame in that far-away prairie land, and
he was as valorous as Caesar at the
Rubicon when he put out the fire and
called the dog.

It is enough to know that you are
happy and prosperous there. It is
enough to know that within the brief
years since you landed there you have

played your part in building the great-
est commonwealth in this great con-
federation of states — 2i commonwealth
as broad as the entire civilized earth
when Christ came to save it — as broad
as Europe when it sufficed mankind for
habitation — ^broad enough now to hold
every man, woman and child in Ameri-
ca and rich enough to feed them. A
Christian land where law and order
reign, inhabited by a cultured and God-
fearing people, who brought with the
accomplishment of this incomparable
result the unconquerable nerve and the
dauntless spirit of Tennessee.

Again I bid you welcome, thrice wel-
come to the land of your fathers.

With Our Editors

>^ vv^fcc:—^^

The success of the commission form
of government in Houston and Gal-
veston and Des Moines has created the

_ „ , hope in many other commu-
Fall in . v^ - . xi_ -n r
_ . nities that the ills of our pres-

ent bunglesome municipal
governments may thereby be cured.
The inefficiency of the average city ad-
ministration is attested on all sides.
Very few private businesses are run
with the lack of care and business prin-
ciples which characterize our average
municipal governments. Perhaps there
were some, but they are dead. Also,
even if the corruption which is some-
times discovered and always suspected
in city governments does not exist, it
would be safer for society to get rid
of such suspicions, especially if it can
save from twenty-five to fifty per cent
of its expenses doing so. The ex-
penses of a single department of the
city of Houston under the old form
of municipal government for one year
was $15,986.60, while the gross re-
ceipts were $15,172.00, which gives a
net loss of $814.60. When the city
changed its form of government to
the commission system, the expenses

of the same department were $11,-
074.81, while the gross receipts went
to $16,692.75, which gives a net profit
in that department of $5,415.19. That
publicity should be given to such fig-
ures and information showing the ex-
cellences of the new plan broadly dis-
seminated, goes without saying. The
truth of the matter is, there is a wide-
spread disgust with the lackadaisical
methods of the average municipal gov-
ernment. Private businesses run with
no more care would have been bank-
rupt long ago. Little by little these
facts are being understood by the
masses of voters. Personal responsi-
bility for expenditures seems to work
better than the old method of mak-
ing the city government everybody's
business — nobody's business. The
Board of Trade of the city of Nash-
ville, Tennessee, have recommended
that the commission form of govern-
ment be adopted by that city. Other
municipalities have similar plans on
hand. It is possible that the g^eat
storm that laid Galveston low may thus
be enabled to save American cities
enough money annually to pay full

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WITH OUR EDITORS

239

damages for its bad effects, not to
mention the salvation of the morals
of a city run for boodle.

What the South has long needed has
at last been gained — b, medium of ex-
pression for the expression of its liter-
Like the \^ ^*^5- ^^}? "^^ f."^"s:h

Voice of ^ ^* ordmary literary

«j^^ channels of the East should
Waters. ^ opened to Southern writers,
but there should be added
also a magazine or magazines in the
management of which full sympathy is
fotmd with distinctly local literature
and sentiments. Without such pro-
vincialism, good literature is impossi-
ble. To the very best written any-
where there is always attached the
strong local color. This one mark the
Taylor-Trotwood Magazine has set
before itself as a point to be pressed on
towards, namely : That its voice should
be the blended tones of the South call-
ing unto her own, the voice of a moth-
er section which has been and always
will be a distinct department of the na-
tion and hither it is hc^ed that our
children will ccxne to speak to one an-
other as they are already coming,
knowing that they who read will un-
derstand. Great literary work is im-
possible without great sympathy on the
part of the public for it. It is this
principle which daily assures this
magazine of its abundant success. For
that such a S)mipathy does exist be-
tween our writers and readers, there
is no doubt whatsoever. The one cre-
ates the other. The other labors for
the one. If the Tavlor-Trotwood
Magazine does no greater thing than
to make itself the common friend in
the South of those who write and
those who read, it will not have lived
in vain.

The gloomy pr^ictions of last
spring concerning the failure of the
crops of the country may very happily
17,000,000,000 be ascribed to the spir-
Worth of iiu^'V^*'^ prophecy

False Prophecy, ^he long, cold vernal
season has not brought
the disaster that had been anticipated,

and the current estimate for the value of
the total of farm products of the year
1907 surpasses that of last year, which
in its turn surpasses that of all preced-
ing years. During the last twenty-
seven years the value of farm prod-
ucts in America has increased from
about $2,000,000,000 to $7,000,000,-
000, which last figure represents the
estimated value of the crops for the
current season. This vast sum of
money coming as it does directly to
the rank and file of the people, belies
all stories of impending panic and
steadies to a wonderful degree the fi-
nancial situation. After all, the main-
stay in the market is the cotton boll
and the wheat sheaf and the corn nub-
bin. Good crops mean good times.
The effect which it will have upon the
South in particular is very satisfactory.
Ten years ago, there was scarcely a
farm in some- sections of the Cotton
Belt that was not heavily mortgaged.
During the last few years, since we
have been having ten and fifteen cent
cotton, these mortgages have descend-
ed into ash heaps and bank accounts
have taken their palces. A few more
years of comparative prosperity will
build good roads, better homes to live
in, better schools, fill these homes and
schools with modern equipments and
do a thousand things that money can
do and that poverty cannot.

Recent discoveries made by many of
our trustworthy astronomers have add-
ed the fascination of romance to a
Who Dare, to f^dy that was already
Dream Itf beautiful. The pres-

ent proximity of the
planet Mars to his sister, the earth,
has offered an opportunity, not too
often had, of completing important ob-
servations already begun in our ob-
servatories. Expeditions have been
busy observing the planet on the An-
des, at Flagstaff, Arizona, and practi-
cally everywhere else. The efforts of
Percival Lowell, in particular, have at-
tracted attention, and his recent book
on Mars has met with a very cordial
reception from scientific students. If

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240*

THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

Mr. Loweirs observations are correct
(and they tally with those of other ob-
servers elsewhere), it seems that we
have in Mars a planet whose present
condition is a prophecy of the condition
of this earth millions of years hence.
What the moon is, Mars will be — dry,
waterless and without atmosphere.
What the earth is Mars was, millions
of years ago, before her waters van-
ished into her soil and her atmosphere
was similarly absorbed. To-day
the planet has such an atmosphere as
we would find on the peaks of our
highest mountains and no water at all
except that which forms our polar caps
in the winter and melting in the sum-
mer, is led everywhere by her canals
for the service of the planet. These
canals are the most interesting sub-
jects of comment and investigation of
all things known about Mars. That
they are not ocular illusions is shown
by the fact that observers everywhere
at all times coincide in their diagrams
of them and, moreover, the camera,
which never gets excited and has no
pet theories, tells the same story in the
photograph which it gives us. De-
scription of these canals and the part
they play in the economy of things on
Mars is a long tale, but briefly stated,
it seems that they conduct the water
from the polar ice caps over the en-
tire surface of the planet and thus ren-
der vegetable and animal life possible.
Furthermore, as evidence of intelli-
gence, they amount to a demonstra-
tion. They run as regularly as paral-
lels of longitude or latitude, meeting
at certain foci which serve as distribut-
ing points, and even when they run in
pairs, never varying from their mathe-
matical, exactness. Who knows but
that before the century is ended there
will be communication between their
planet and ours, and who can say
what mysteries of the past, of the pres-
ent and of the future such communi-
cations may not make plain to us ? To
say that it is impossible, is to place
one's self upon the same plane of faith
and knowledge as he placed himself
who said ten years ago that only an
idiot would believe that a man could

talk with another man across oceans
without wires. Altogether the vista
opened for scientific and even religious
discovery in the study of this fiery red
old planet, is most entrancing; and
greater than Columbus will be he who
discovers a way to speak with the in-
habitants of Mars.

This is not
Politics.

The discussion concerning the nomi-
nation of a Southern man as the Demo-
cratic candidate for the presidency
continues unabated.
"Why shall not the Na-
tional Democratic party
nominate a Southern man for the
presidency?" asks one paper, and then
proceeds to answer that it will be most
unwise, imprudent, and untimely to
do so, adding that it is yet too early to
forget that the Southern states fought
a tremendous war to establish the Na-
tional independence of that section.
Now, with politics this magazine has
little to do, but with what general ac-
count Southern wisdom gives of it-
self, it has much to do. Luckily, talk
such as this does no one harm except
to the man whose heart is revealed
thereby as being still full of bitterness
and unprofitable memories. As a mat-
ter of fact, the fight that the Southern
states put up some forty years ago
for their independence is no drawback
whatsoever to the availability of a
Southern candidate for the presidency.
That fight is remembered in the South
and still accounted a very present fact.
But so far as Northern sentiment is
concerned, it might have happened two
centuries ago. Half of the people
North do not know anything about it
or care anything about it. They and
their fathers have come into this coun-
try since it happened. It means about
the same thing to a mass of Northern
voters that the Revolution means to
them, and those who know and under-
stand are inclined rather to trust the
destinies of the people in the hands of
a section so distinguished for its
bravery and later for its unqualified
acceptance of conditions as the South
is. Any man who thinks that a South-

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WITH OUR EDITORS

241

ern man's father being a Confederate
soldier would cut off his chances of
election to the presidency, understands
little of the temper of the American
people. If it had any influence at all,
it would help it ; but the whole ques-
tion misses the mark by a league.
Presidents come and go on their own
responsibility. They are weighed as
men and not as a Southerner nor a
Yankee. To nominate a man because
he is a Southerner is an insult to the
highest ideals of American statesman-
ship. To nominate a man because he
is a Yankee is the same. The South
will again have its presidents in
the White House, but not until
it has them south of the White
House. What we need is broad-
mindedness, such as is not exhibited
by the words quoted above. It is not
the magnificent struggle of the sixties
that would keep the Southern man
from the presidency, it is the lack of
that spirit to-day. The spirit of the
sore-head who thinks everybody else is
sore also must be dynamited in the
South. Let us stop talking about "be-
ing excluded from the counsels of the
nation," and above all things let us
not regard the g^eat struggle of the
sixties as being a thing that has dis-
graced us in the eyes of the country,
for it has not. On the contrary, it
has painted an aureole around the head
of Dixie, and any man who took part
in it or whose father took part in it
has more respect in the eyes of three-
fourths of the men outside of the

South than the man who did not take
part in it and whose father stayed at
home.

Announcement made by Baron Von
Pilis last month to the effect that the
North German Lloyd Steamship Com-
The Dream P^^^ ^^"^^ establish a
of Three permanent line for the

Centurie.. transportation of freight
and passengers between
Trieste and Charleston, South Caro-
lina, has caused more than an ordinary
amount of interest, and has again
turned the attention of those interested
in Southern development to the very
successful attempts being made by
Southern states to induce a high
grade of European immigration to this
country. Baron Von Pilis made a very
thorough investigation of the situation
and seemed to be impressed with the
marvelous industrial development of
those sections of the South through
which he passed. It begins to look
as if the old port of Charleston might
again resume its important position
among the shipping points of the coun-
try, though it will be many years before
it is as it once was, the fourth largest
city in America and the third most
important port of entry. The tremen-
dous influence of the Old Charleston
on Southern life has been almost for-
gotten, yet there was a time when her
great wholesale houses controlled the
best business between the Mississippi
and the sea and when her wharves
were as busy as those of New York.

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We hsTe begim thi» deiMhrtment expecting our readers to make it. It has bem snggeeted hj a
number of onr^adera. and^ere ia no diepartment that should be more popular. There are few o£ uj
who ha^ not in old swap books, or elsewhere, somethlnr-to prose or poetrr-thatwe cherish: that
SwbeoSie^ of our souls. sSid them in. thus preserring them and permitting others to enjoy them.

STONEWALL JACKSON

Not midst the lightning of the stormy
fight,

Nor in the rush upon the vandal foe,
Did kingly Death, with his resistless might

Lay the great leader low.

His warrior soul its earthly shackles broke
In the full sunshine of a peaceful town;

When all the storm was hushed, the trusty
oak
That propped our cause went down.

Though his alone the blood that flecks the
ground,

Recalling all his grand, heroic deeds.
Freedom herself is writhing in the wound,

And all the country bleeds.

He entered not the nation's Promised
Land
At the red belching of the cannon's
mouth,
But broke the House of Bondage with his
hand —
The Moses of the South!

O gracious God, not gainless is the loss:
A glorious sunbeam gilds thy sternest
frown;
And while his country staggers 'neath the
cross,
He rises with the crown 1

— Henry L. Flash.

FRAUDS

Ambitious, shrewd.

Unprincipled, and ever fond of show,
Hanno of Carthage, centuries ago.
Determined to be great : he bought a brood
Of fledgling parrots, taught them at his

nod
To scream in chorus: "Hanno is a god!"

When they were taught,
He had a hireling place them on the street,
As if for sale to those he chanced to meet ;
But yet by no one could the birds be

bought.
Then Hanno passed in pomp, he gave a

nod,

Out shrieked the parrots: "Hanno is a
god!"

"Cunningly done."

That night said Hanno, as he doffed his

clothes
Of silk embroidery, to seek repose:
"Distinguished immortality is won;
For heardst thou not that superstitious

squad
Catch up the sentence, 'Hanno is a god!'?"
♦ ♦ * *

A galley slave,

Condemned, went Hanno o'er the cloudy

seas
That hid the fabled Cassiterides ;
Wealthy in grief, no home except the

wave,
Lashed to the oar, betimes urged by the

rod.
Not very much a man, much less a god.

It could not win.

It never did. Although the world applauds,
It turns at last and punishes its fraud.s.
Although it may not hasten to begin.
True to itself, when once it has begun.
It drives them to the galleys one by one.
■ — Eugene F. Ware.

THE FOOL'S PRAYER

The royal feast was done; the king
Sought some new sport to banish care.

And to his jester cried: "Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer."

The jester doffed his cap and bells,
And stood the mocking court before,

They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head and bent the knee
Upon the monarch's silken stool;

His pleading voice arose: "O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool !

''No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool ;

The rod must heal the sin; but Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

"Tis not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and light, O, Lord, we stay;

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THE FAMILY SCRAP BOOK

243

Tis by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.

"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;

These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heartstrings of a friend.

"The ill-timed truth we might have kept,
Who knows how sharp it pierced and
stung?

The word we had not sense to say-^
Who knows how grandly it had nmg?

"Our faults no tenderness should ask,
The chastening stripes must cleanse
them all;

But for our blunders — oh! in shame
Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

"Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;

Men crown the knave, and scourge the
tool
That did his will; but thou, O Lord,

Be merciful to me, a fool!"

The room was hushed; in silence rose
The king, and sought the garden cool,

And walked apart, and murmured low,
"Be merciful to me a fool!"

—Edward R. Sill.

NEIGHBOR WILSON'S KICKING
GRAY

My neighbor Wilson owned a horse — 2,

sprightly, dapple gray.
Which, every time he felt inclined, would

kick and run away;
But Wilson said that he could break the

meanest horse that walked,
No matter if he fought and kicked, or if

he only balked.

He said his old bay mare had lost her

liveliness and vim.
And thought her action far too slow to

suit a man like him;
But when he hitched the young horse up

beside the old bay mare.
And sharply told him to "git ap," he

wouldn't move a hair.

Well, Wilson shook his fist and raved, —

or that is what they say, —
And dropped some words that preachers

use, but in another way.
He took a monster wagon whip, and with

a rousing whack.
He brought it down in angry haste upon

the dapple's back.

The horse kicked things to smithereens,

kicked at the old bay mace,
He kicked at everything in sight, and then

he kicked the air.
While Wilson stayed behind a tree to

watch his dapple gray,
He kicked and kicked and kicked and

kicked, and then he ran away.

He took the road to Gentry villc t-^nd gal-
loped like a streak,

And in two bounds he crossed the bridge
that spans old Buckhorn Creek;

And Wilson followed on to town, but
heard, to his dismay.

That all had seen but none could stop his
kicking dapple gray.

He knew the horse had passed through

Dale if he had gone tiiat way,
And so he 'phoned to Huntingburg,

"Please stop my dapple gray."
But soon the answer was returned: "Your

horse just now went by.
But lightning could not stop the nag; no

man of sense would try."

He heard no more about his horse until

the other day
He saw a statement in the Times, which

ran somewhat this way:
"A wild horse passed Fort Wayne last

week. A telegram to-day
Says it has entered Michigan, and is a

dapple gray."

Now Wilson likes an old horse best, and
says that as for him,

He wouldn't give one penny for a horse
with too much vim.

So fcir as he can learn, his horse is run-
ning on to-day;

So when he drives to town he goes behind
his sober bay.

— Frank Oskin.
4t «

Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine:

Please find enclosed Jack Wills' petition
to Congress for amnesty, copied from an
old scrapbook that was started in the 70's,
I see that you invite subscribers to con-
tribute to it.

I am a subscriber to your magazine and
enjoy it very much. I have other pieces
that I will send on from time to time and
I think many readers will enjoy reading
them. I am very respectfully,
Bastrop, La. F. W. Turpin.

"JACK WILLS"

HIS PETITION TO C0NGBES8 FOB AMNESTY

Some years ago. Jack Wills' petition for
pardon attracted widespread attention. Al-
though this remarkable document possesses
a degree of merit far beyond many pro-
ductions that have gained world-wide fame
it has well-nigh faded from the public
mind.

Jack's petition was read in G>ngress by
Proctor Knott, in that distinguished
statesman's inimitable style and his mo-
tion that the pardon be granted was sec-
onded by the fiery Radical leader of that
period, General B. F. Butler. This prayer
was not only granted, but his more fer-
vent one for a good, fat office was prompt-

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244

THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ly answered by an appointment as Regis-
ter in Bankruptcy for one of the 'moun-
tain districts of Kentucky.

Dear Knott: I thought as I had time,

Vd write to you and Beck in rhyme,

To let you know that I am well,

A span's length yet or more from hell.

I also send petition signed

By loyal men who were so kind

As to endorse and recommend

For clemency your wayward friend.

Please push it through and thus relieve

A rebel who past sins doth grieve;

And you may tell each friendly Rad

That, though I was a rebel bad.

My penitence is deep and true,

More than I dare express to you.

When Jephtha, Judge of Israel, fought,

The Ammonitish host, and sought.

In prayer, the aid of Israel's God,

To drown his foes in their own blood,

He made a vow he hadn't orter,

And thereby lost his only daughter.

This, now, I'm sure old Jep repented

Until he felt almost demented.

If all of Holy Writ is true,

Old Pharaoh did the Jews pursue

With numerous hosts intent on slaughter;

Until he got neck-deep in water;

With penitence no doubt profound

His soul was filled before he drowned.

And thousands evil ways have tried

Who felt repentance ere they died,

But few have felt such deep contrition

As he who sends you this petition.

Some for their crimes get thrown in prison

And some get ropes around their 'wizen;

Some after death are sent to hell.

All these can bear their fates quite well,

But he who with a gory hand.

Stirs up rebellion in the land

Against the best government under the

sun,
And fails in his purpose, is forever un-
done.
No prison for him let no gallows be built.
The red ocean of hell is too mild for his

guilt
That pit of perdition where the devil and

his kith
Are weeping and wailing and gnashing

their teeth
Is too full of pleasure! Let's invent some

new plan
To punish and torture this rebellious clan !
Thus our lawmakers and with cruel in-
tendment
Went to work and concocted the Four-
teenth Amendment
A man can stand being hung or put in jail.
Face the guillotine, too, without turning

pale,
And pleasantly travel the pathway to hell.
And plunge in as though without fear he

fell. '
But just think, my dear Prock, and you
are no novice.

How a Kentuckian feels when he can't
hold office.

Old Spain's inquisition and the racks
there applied

To torture mankind may be thrice multi-
plied,

Then add gallows and jail, and the for-
tunes of hell,

And the figures you get begin scarcely to tell

The miseries of him whose scales of de-
scendment

Is laid down by law in this Fourteenth
Amendment ;

Not that he cares much for the Yankee
blood spilt,

Or for those he has wounded or those he
has kilt.

But his cup of misery he thinks full
enough is

When he knows he's proscribed and can
never hold office.

Remorse and repentance express but con-
tentment

When compared with the rule in this
Fourteenth Amendment.

Why it's bad enough, Prock, when he
can't get elected.

It makes him feel sorry, repentant, de-
jected,

But to say he shan't run, O, ye gods!
what contrition

Fill's up a man's heart in this awful con-
dition !

Such condition is mine and it worries me
more

And pierces my soul to my heart's very
core.

And I am sure when your friends see how
I am grieved,

They will hurry up the cakes and get me
relieved.

O, my country! my country! How I'd
like to serve it.

In some good, fat office, for I know I de-
serve it.

You may tell your friends, too. 111 re-
member in prayer.

Those who in relieving your friend shall
take share;

And I'll here give a specimen prayer, by
the way.

For fear they may think I don't know how
to pray:

Thou Ruler of both good and bad,

Look down and bless each friendly Rad,

Who hastens forward with agility

To free Jack Wills of disability;

May pleasure on his pathway shine;

May he for office never pme;

May he never know defeat.

Unless some Reb can get his seat

May he live one thousand years.

His eyes be never wet with tears.

Except it be with tears of joy.

Of pleasure mixed with no alloy;

And spend his days in sweet contentment.

Free from the d d Fourteenth Amend-
ment.

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WITH OUR READERS

TliiB department la open to onr readers for the exprenlon of their o];»inions on. qnestlona of
pablie interest. The editors, while inviting contribatlonB bearins on measores and erents of
general interest, reserve the right to ezolnde enoh matter as is not deemed soltable, and are not
reqxmsible for ofrinions expressed.

EonoRS Taylor-Trotwood :

The following verses were read by Hon.
C. C. Pierce at a recent gathering in Fort
Worth, and were so greatly enjoyed, it
occurs to me that many of the readers of
our magazine may take pleasure in them.
The author is one of Austin's rising young
men. Yours very truly,

John W. Adair.

Ft. Worth, Texas,

AT LINCOLN'S GRAVE

As lifts some oak's magestic span,

Above its kindred wood;
So thus, amidst his fellowman.

The kindly Lincoln stood.

Sprung from the walks of humble life.

And cast in hardy mould,
He bravely faced the storm and strife,

With heart of beaten gold.

His soul, as from the parent spring,

Ran pure, and undefiled;
In greatness — greater than a king.

In tenderness — a child!

With wisdom, that will live to guide,
Through all the coming years.

His wholesome humor gashed beside,
The bitter fount of tears !

He warmly clasped, with brawny hand,

The wealthy and the poor,
And drew with love, from palace grand,

To cot and cabin door.

Through gloom of fraticidal war,

He held to duty — true,
Devoid of hate — forgive them for

They know not what they do!

With love for man and truth and right,
He prized his country's worth.

And bare her cross, that freedom might.
Not perish from the earth!

Sleep, Lincoln, 'neath the folds so dear,

Of flag you died to save !
A Southron twines this chaplet here.

And lays it on your grave.

— Luther A. Lawhon.

Taylor-Trotwood Pub. Co.,
Nashville, Tennessee.
Sirs: Your article on the trial of Sam
Davis in the June issue of your magazine.

reminds me of a poem written by Ella
Wheeler Wilcox on the same subject for
the Confederate Veteran. Will you please
publish it if you can procure it, and oblige.
Yours,

J. W. Black.
Chant, Indian Territory.

Editors Tavlor-Trotwood :

I shall be pleased to have you reprint the
poem, "Sam Davis," in your very interest-
ing magazine. Credit it to me in "Poems
of Power." Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Short Beach, Connecticut.

SAM DAVIS

When the Lord calls up earth's heroes

To stand before his face,
O, many a name unknown to fame

Shall ring from that high place!
And out of a grave in the Southland,

At the just God's call and beck.
Shall one man rise with fearless eyes

And a rope about his neck.

For men have swung from gallows

Whose souls were white as snow.
Not how they die nor where, but why.

Is what God's records show.
And on that mighty ledger

Is writ Sam Davis' name —
For honor's sake he would not make

A compromise with shame.

The great world lay before him.

For he was in his youth.
With love of life young hearts are rife.

But better he loved truth.
He fought for his convictions.

And when he stood at bay
He would not flinch or stir one inch

From honor's narrow way.

They offered life and freedom

If he would speak the word;
In silent pride he gazed aside

As one who had not heard.
They argued, pleaded, threatened —

It was but wasted breath.
"Let come what must, I keep my trust,"

He said, and laughed at death.

He would not sell his manhood

To purchase priceless hope;
Where kings drag down a name and crown

He dignified a rope.
Ah, grave! where was your triumph?

Ah, death! where was your sting?

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THE TAYLOR - TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

He showed you how a man could bow
To doom and stay a king.

And God, who loves the loyal

Because they are like him,
I doubt not y^t that soul shall set

Among his cherubim.
O Southland ! bring your laurels ;

And add your wreath, O North !
Let glory claim the hero's name,

And tell the world his worth.

--Ella Wheeler Wilcox.

Dear Editors:

Here are some verses I picked up some
forty years ago, while campaigning. I
think may be it was in Mississippi. Good
reading was scarce in the C. S. Army, and
some of us used to commit to memory
choice bits of poetry and prose, wherewith
to beguile the tedium of night marches or
lonely vigils. I do not know the name of
the author. Like Bottom, the weaver, "I
have a reasonable good ear in music," and
thus acquired the habit of looking out for
gems.

To me and my wife, also from "ole Fer-
ginny, whar I come fum," the Taylor-
Trot wood is the bright, particular star in
all our broad galaxy of magazine litera-
ture, and "here's to your goot health, and
your family's goot health, and may you live
long and prosper!"

Yours sincerely.

Joseph A. Wilson.

Lexington, Kentucky.

TOO SOON

Oh, but the languid summer,

It drifteth away too soon;
My heart expands in the sunshine.

Like a flower that blows at noon :
Never a breeze on the mountain.

Scarcely a breath on the sea,
And the sun's red rays set the skies ablaze.

Oh, these are the days for me.

The passionate heart in my bosom.

Like a bird on a tropic isle.
Grows drunk with blooms and subtle per-
fumes,

And basks in the sun's hot smile.
Oh, blossoming garden of roses.

Oh, season of languid heat!
Oh, fervid hours, that smother the flowers.

You are so sweet — so sweet!

Linger, oh beautiful summer!

Oh, siunmer of love and light;
Bloom, breath, and glow, for the winter of
snow

Is lurking, just out of sight.
G>me closer, my prince, my darling.

Let us live and love while we may.
For the gloom of death, and sorrow's
breath.

Are coming to us one day.

Bloom, oh blossoming gardens.
Blow, oh winds from the south!

Lean, oh my lover, and touch me
Aspain with your beautiful mouth.

Editors Taylor-Trotwood Magazine,
Nashville, Tcnn.

Gentlemen: I am handing you here-
with a bit of a poem, ''A Southern Sum-
mer's Night," which I hope you will like.
I am so infernally tired of receiving the
conventional "not suitable for our col-
umns," that, by many of my friends, ray
life is despaired of. I would actually
rather listen to a school girl recite, "Cur-
few Shall Not Ring To-night," than to read
one of those ever-to-be accursed testimon-
ials of the sender's asininity.

With great respect,

Wick Blanton.

Floresville, Texas, May 6, 1907.

After reading the above we decided it
was a case of suicide or publication, so
here it is. The poem is, however, better than
many we receive. — Ed.

A SOUTHERN SUMMER'S NIGHT

Starlight tangled in the roses,
Moonbeams lodged among the trees.
Fairies dancing in the posies
To the music of the breeze;
On the waters lilies sleeping,
Violets dreaming in their bed.
While the golden stars are keeping
Sacred vigils overhead.

Rich magnolia banners waving
In the fragrant air of night,
Silken flower petals laving
In the soft dew's liquid light:
Hill and valley wrapped in glory.
Rivers singing on their way
Mingling their enchanting story
With the streamlet's rythmic lay.

Blue bells nodding, daisies swaying
In graceful, measured time
To the tune the stars are playing.
To the night wind's holy dhime.
While the daffodils are bending
With their loads of mellow light.
And the night bird's song is blending
With the melodies of night.

Dear Sirs: I have just been reading your
August issue, and believe me, I cannot say
how deeply I regret not having seen your
splendid magazine at an earlier date. To
one a-weary of the usual ten cent magazine
of this period, its weak or vicious stories,
its brazen galaxy of chonis girls, its moral
lassitude — ^after these, your pages are like
the winds that roam the nigged hiUs and
smiling valleys of the country which draws
me with all the power of atavism.

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WITH OUR READERS

247

All classes have their own literature—
the negro and the emigrant have theirs,
the wealthy cosmopolite has his. I want
yott to make your magazine the banner of
the thoroughbred — I want you to represent
the men whose fathers won this country
and kept it, who feared nothing save loss
of honor.

I am heart and soul with you in your
attitude toward the necessity of protecting
our standards at any cost — ^the standards
of an older, finer generation, whose chil-
dren many of us are not worthy to be.

In conclusion, keep your own high stand-
ards, and go on from strength to strength,
confident of the sympathy of all right-
thinking people. Thank you for the chil-
dren's pictures and the paper on the race
question. The South has a high mission.
She must cherish and keep unsullied her
fame as the cradle of a race "incorrupti-
ble as fate." Yours truly,

Springfield, Illinois, Earl Fostes.

Dear Trotwood:

Why so much of "Anne'' and so little
of "Conquerors of the Wilderness"? II
you expect to establish a publication which
will take such rank as the South merits,
let us have one page of trash and twenty
of as fine matter as is found in the best
magazines of the country. I mean the ad-
mirably told story of our forefathers, the
"G)nquerors." Give it to us in larger meas-
ure. Why not make it ten or at least six
chapters each issue? We are the children
of the pioneers who were never fed on milk
and water. They had parched com and
bear meat, but always salt — it was strong,
nutritious and well-flavored. Give us the
story of their deeds, and we will help you
build up a magazine worthy of the noble
states they made.

Your friend,
Descendant op the Conquerors of jbm
Wilderness.

Nashville, August 25, 1907.

LILUAH REHDIMCR BYRH

Indian Love Letters. By Marah El-
lis Ryan. Chicago : A. C McClurg
& Co. Price, $1.00.
From the cover to the last pathetic
page of this book, with its Hopi good-
luck symbol and its curious typical
headings, the reader's interested atten-
tion is closely held. It is not an art-
less book. This Indian lover has been
educated at an Eastern college and his
letters to the pale-faced Eastern girl
show to the full his appreciation of the
wide gulf between the Indian's life and
the white man's. His love, he knew
from the first, was hopeless, for what
place could a Hopi,'however well edu-
cated, find in her scheme of life ? Una-
ble to fit in the Eastern life, he returns
to his barren mesas to find himself
out of place among his own people.
He is the victim of consumption and
it has been claimed that this is a fre-
quent result of confining the Indians
to college work. The letters breathe
a touching spirit of poetic sadness.

The Gang of Six. By H. M. Du-
Bose. Nashville : M. E. Publishing
House. Price, 50 cents.

With unusual insight into the nature
of boys. Dr. DuBose has depicted the
gradual leading of six boys from idle,
shiftless habits into earnest effort and
purpose. The agency employed in
their training is a typical young man
who bands them together into a jolly
secret fellowship and who makes their
meetings the occasion of awakening
their ambition. All the types por-
trayed are such as are to be found in
any city, and it is to be hoped that this
entertaining story may serve to point
a useful moral.

Latter Day Sweethearts. By Mrs.
Burton Harrison. New York:
Authors' and Newspapers' Associa-
tion. Price, 50 cents.
An unusual feature in fiction is the
introduction of two heroines, eSich
winsome and wealthy, and each, by the

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWCXDD MAGAZINE

perversity of fate, in love with the oth-
er's fiance. The entanglements com-
mence in the first chapter, and the un-
certainty is sustained until the last
happy chapter, when all is made
straight, each lovable heroine coming
into her own without lessening the im-
portance of the other.

Kentucky Eloquence, Past and
Present. Edited by Colonel Ben-
nett H. Young. Louisville: Ben
La Bree, Jr. Price, $2.00.

This volume is a complete compendium
of the patriotic orations, after-dinner
speeches, eulogies and lectures by
noted Kentucky orators from early
history to the present year. It is
a happy thought to thus preserve
the genius of wit and eloquence, which
might otherwise find record merely in
the transitory columns of newspapers.
An especially valuable contribution is
the poem, "The Moneyless Man,*' from
the pen of that most gifted of Ken-
tucky journalists, Henry M. Stanton,
whose brilliant work has never been
collected in book form.

Pipetown Sandy. By John Philip
Sousa. Indianapolis : Bobbs-Mer-
rill Co. Price, $1.25.
The reader very naturally looks for a
musical story from the noted band
master, but in Pipetown Sandy he
shows his versatility by delineating the
characters and episodes of a small vil-
lage. Red-headed Sandy, tall, raw-
hontd and freckled, acts as love's mes-
senger between the grocer and a bux-
om widow, starts an ingenious fad
for fish-eating (controlling the supply
himself), boxes, builds boats and ex-
hibits generally that quality which "the
Jedge" denominates as "help yerself
an' git there."

Family Secrets. By Marion Foster
Washbume. New York : The Mac-
millan Co. Price, $1.25.
Under this attractive title the author
has collected a series of essays on the
homely problems of everyday life,
which appeared last year in Harper's

Bazar, and attracted wide and favora-
ble comment. A family narrative
forms a thread of continuity, serving
admirably to connect the lessons of
philosophy and cheerfulness.

The Long Road. By John Oxenham.

New York: The Macmillan Co.

Price, $1.50.
A Russian decree of exile forms the
theme for a striking and absorlnng
story. The exiles love and marry and
suffer in Siberia, are hunted and har-
ried, robbed and pillaged at the pleas-
ure of the brutal, besotted officials.
Stepan Iline, a child in the opening
chapter, runs the gamut of life in the
penal settlement and ends his life, after
years of persecution, starvation and
fighting wolves, a demented old man,
still lovable and human.

Richard Eluott, Financiee. By
George Varling. Boston: L. C.
Page & Co. Price, $1.50.
This is a book deserving wide and
thoughtful reading. It deals with the
unscrupulous efforts of a man to win
in the mad race for wealth, the desola-
tion caused by his abuse of sacred
trusts and his unprincipled schemes,
and the final ruin of his own fortunes
by the wickedness of his shameless
son. It is a graphic sermon on the
text, "Whatsoever a man soweth that
shall he also reap," and it is told in
most interesting fashion.

A Victor of Salamis. By William
Stearns Davis. New York: The
Macmillan Co. Price, $1.50.
Not since Charles Kingsley's "Hy-
patia" has there ai^>eared a story of
classic history so rich in interest as
that of the young athlete who wins the
laurel wreath at the Isthmian games.
The period is the time when Athens
was queen of Greece, and Greece led
the civilized world; when Xerxes the
Great was at the zenith of his power
in Persia and attempted to subdue the
Hellenes. One cannot read of Ther-
mopylae, with its one messenger of de-
feat, and the brave rally and victory

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BOOKS AND AUTHORS

249

at Salamis, by which the Parthenon
and the treasures of Phidias, Sopho-
cles and Plato were saved to the civ-
ilized world, without a thrill of enthu-
siasm.

Roger of Fairfield. By Virginia C.
Castleman. New York and Wash-
ington : Neale Publishing Co. Price,
$1.25.
Miss Castleman belongs to the school
of young Virginia writers who are
preserving the records of their state's
glorious and chivalrous past. Roger
of Fairfield is a gallant, care-free boy
of the Cavalier type to whom the cruel
•chances of war bring desolation and
ruin, but like hundreds of others of
his type he faces his misfortunes nobly
and finds a higher, if different com-
pensation than would have been possi-
ble under the old regime.

The Rome Express. By Arthur
Griffiths. Boston : L. C. Page & Co.
Price, $1.25.
A shred of lace and a bit of bead
trimming in a compartment of the
Rome Express, where an Italian bank-
er is found murdered, lead to the ar-
rest of an English countess in the next
-compartment, and she suffers severely
at the hands of the French and Italian
"detectives before the identity of the
real murderer is discovered by the
aid of the countess' friends, who are
firm in their belief in her innocence,
despite the circumstantial evidence of
an acquaintance with the murdered
man, and the other evidence which
seems to point to her. The story is
•exciting throughout, and the contrast
of the various nationalities makes it
of absorbing interest.

The Story of the Outlaw. By
Emerson Hough. New York : Out-
ing Publishing Co. Price, $1.50,
net.
From the guerrilla bands of the Civil
War to tfie James boys and Billy the
Kid, Mr. Hough gives an account of
the deeds of outlaws of more or less

repute. Some of these he robs of
their glory, showing them to be merely
imitation desperadoes, but to some he
accredits the wild recklessness, the
daring deviltry and all the chivalry
with which tradition has clothed
them. The author knows his West
thoroughly, and gives the accounts of
the robberies, the fights and the capt-
ures as he had them from the sheriffs
who put an end to outlawry.

Racial Integrity. By A. H. Shan-
non. Nashville: M. E. Publishing
House. Price, $1.25.
No volume recently issued on this im-
portant subject more fully and g^phi-
cally portrays the real status of the ne-
gro problem than does Mr. Shannon's
book. It is an able, thoughtful study
of the question, its causes and its reme-
dy, and it deserves careful reading.

Stand Pat. By David A. Curtis. Bos-
ton : L. C. Page & Co. Price, $1.50.
Draw poker was a fine art and the
principal recreation when the Missis-
sippi steamboats were the chief traffic
carriers in this country. These boats
— not ''steamers," the author points
out clearly — were the academies from
which the first-class players were edu-
cated. The game emjoyed an honora-
ble distinction and was played openly,
as "guns" were worn openly and gen-
tlemen and sharpers were alike skilled
in both gun play and poker. "Stand
Pat" is a collection of short stories
held together by a thread of continuity.

Prisoners of Fortune. By Ruel Per-
ley Smith. Boston : L. C. Page &
Co. Price, $1.50.
Tales of piracy are always fascinating
and the hero of Mr. Smith's latest book
tells his adventures in a particularly
delightful way. Captain Kidd, Teach,
Blackbeard and other freebooters are
brought into the story, while buried
treasure, shipwreck, a captive maiden
and the death of the pirates, all skill-
fully interwoven, keep up the thrilling
interest to the very last page.

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PRUETT STREET, PARAGOULD

PARAGOULD, ARKANSAS

By W. O. Thomas

THE state of Arkansas is a
heavenly body, including the
Hon. Jefferson Davis, Sena-
tor-elect, and J. R. Taylor, editor of
the Paragould Soliphone, This is said
advisedly. For every schoolboy knows
that the earth is described in his ge-
ography as a heavenly body, and Ar-
kansas, being so considerable a por-
tion of the earth's surface, must neces-
sarily be included in the same cate-
gory,

There is a legend extant to the ef-
fect that once upon a time a traveler
passed through Arkansas and inter-
rogated an old settler as to the num-
ber of his offspring. To this query
the settler referred the traveler to the
old 'oman. Since then the Federal
census has come to the relief of the
inquiring stranger, and the prolificacy
of the inhabitants of Arkansas is care-
fully shown and bound up in red,
white and blue tape in the Washing-
ton archives.

Arkansas is perhaps one of the
least known states in the Union. But
if the reader will consult the thou-

sands of Tennesseans who have set-
tled in this state, to say nothing of the
many other thousands who have
flocked here from other states he will
be told with a boundless enthusiasm
and matchless optimism that no other
land so overflows with milk and honey
and so nearly borders on the glory
land as the glorious state of "Arkan-
sas." And it is pronounced "Arkan-
saw," with a gusto sanctified and war-
ranted by a special set of the legisla-
ture.

Let me give you a running idea of
Arkansas. The state has 53,045
square miles, or 33,948,800 acres. It
has 3,868,800 more acres of land than
the imperial state of New York. It
has 2,756 miles of navigable rivers.
In its mountains are acres of silver.
antimony, zinc, iron, lead, copp)er,
manganese, marble, granite, nitre
earths, kaolin, marls, paints, free-
stone, limestone, buhr and rock crys-
tal. Many of these ores are being
worked on a. large scale. It is the
largest producer of whetstones, rang-
ing from the very finest to the coarser

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PARAGOULD, ARKANSAS

251

qualities, in the world. Some gold has
been found, and as I write, there is
much interest being manifested over
the discovery of a diamond field in
Pike County, in the southwestern por-
tion of the state. A great many dia-
monds have been found and an East-
cm S3mdicate is making thorough in-
vestigation of this field.

In Arkansas almost every variety
of land suitable for agricultural pur-
poses may be found. In the south and
central portions the land is inexhaus-
tibly fertile. Here the cotton aver-
ages from one to one and a half bales

yet in its infancy. As for the climate,
it may surprise the reader to know
that the annual mean temperature of
Los Angeles, California, is about one
degree less than that of Little Rock.
To-day, the population of Arkansas
is approximately two million. In 1880
it had a population of 802,525. The
government of Arkansas is that of a
pure democracy. The state is vigilant
in maintaining its autonomy. The
people arc jealous of their liberties,
and if there has been of recent years
a slight tendency towards drastic leg-
islation against corporate influences,

GREENE COUNTY COURT HOUSE

and com seventy-five bushels to the
acre. I have been shown corn four-
teen feet high, hefty in stock and
plethoric of ear. In the swamp lands
it beats Louisiana for rice, the pro-
duction often running as high as one
hundred bushels to the acre. The al-
luvial soils run as high as thirty feet
in depth. In the uplands is produced
the finest of fruits. The apples of the
Ozarks excel any other apples in the
Union, both as to variety and extent
of product. Every variety of fruit,
grain and vegetable may be grown to
advantage in the state. In the devel-
opment of its minerals the state is

caused largely by monopolistic usur-
pation of power, the courts are see-
ing that the proper equilibrium is pre-
served. The spirit of pure American-
ism is abroad in Arkansas and its
soil is not adapted to the propagation
of graft.

Volumes might profitably be writ-
ten on Arkansas, its remarkable re-
sources and adaptability to almost ev-
ery form of human endeavor, its equa-
ble climate, the inducements it offers
to the home-seeker, but this is pri-
marily an article on Paragould and
Greene county.

Greene County lies in the northeast-

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ern part of the state. It has an area
of 600 square miles. The county was
named after General Nathaniel
Greene, of Revolutionary fame. The
principal towns of the county are Mar-
maduke, Gainesville, Lafe, Delaplaine,
Walcott and Lorado. The county has
an excellent system of schools, both
public and private, and there are about
one hundred school houses, under the
supervision of C. E. Richardson,

Valley and west is the Cache Valley.
The alluvial soil in these valleys make
them incomparably rich and amazing:
crops of com and cotton can be pro-
duced thereon. The slopes of Craw-
ley's Ridge are a sandy loam, semi-
alluvial and are exceptionally adapted
to the growth of wheat, vegetables
and fruits. Land can be purchased in
Greene County for from $10 to $50
per acre. The timber interests of the

PARAGOULD TRUST COMPANY

County School Superintendent. The
teachers and directors maintain per-
manent organizations and educational
sentiment is at high tide.

Crawley's Ridge extends in a south-
westernly direction through Greene
County and divides the county into
three natural divisions. This ridge has
a width varying from five to ten miles,
with gentle slopes to the lowlands and
valuable spurs of san^ and gravel.
East of the ridge is the St. Francis

county are very valuable, and that
and the cultivation of cotton and corn
are the chief productions. This is a
great grass country and four crops of
hay may be produced annually, yet
the farmers do not raise enough hay
for local consumption. This is an
anomalous condition. What is needed
here, and, indeed, throughout the
South, is a general introduction of di-
versified farming. In this section the
farmer may get prodigal returns for

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PARAGOULD, ARKANSAS

253

the expenditure of his capital and en-
ergy. Greene County now produces
annually about 2,500 bales of cotton
and about enough corn to supply the
local demand. Up to the present time
the productive energies of the people
have largely been diverted to the tim-
ber industry but the opportunity is
ripe for the man who tills the soil.
The population of the county is 30,-
poo. There are less than a hundred
colored people in the county. The
county affords exceptional opportuni-

trious. They practice the homely
virtues, are hospitable, law-abiding
and God-fearing, attend conscientious-
ly to the obligations of church and
state, and there is a steady trend in the
direction of the higher life. There are
no saloons in Paragould or Greene
County, and the moral spirit of the
people is strongly developed.

In the way of public utilities, Para-
gould has three railroads — the Cotton
Belt, Missouri Pacific or Iron Moun-
tain and the Paragould-Southeastem.

THE LEADING HABERDASHERY OF PARAGOULD

ties for investors in timber and farm
lands. Especially will the farmer of
small means and an abundance of en-
ergy and enthusiasm find this a fine
field for diversified farming either on
a large or small scale.

Paragould is the county seat of
Greene County. It has a population
of 7,000 white and no negroes. Of the
ten thousand school children in the
county only fourteen are colored.
This is strictly an Anglo-Saxon com-
munity, and in obedience to the law
of segregation, like seeks like. The
people are sober, frugal and indiis-

There is a fair prospect of the Para-
gould & Memphis railroad being built
at an early day. There is an excel-
lent telegraph and telephone service.
The city waterworks afford an abun-
dant supply of water, and a sewerage
system is in immediate prospect.

Industrially the city has electric
lights, ice plant, five tight barrel stave
and heading plants, which ship more
tight barrel stock than any other point
in the world, one canning factory, one
hub factory, three large handle fac-
tories, one flouring «iill of 200-barrel
capacity, three system cotton gins, one

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

FIRST METHODIST CHURCH

pin factory, one foundry and machine
shop, two laundries, one saw mill, two
planing mills, two lumber yards, two

brick plants, one concrete block plant,
one sucker rod factory and a num-
ber of smaller industries.

All the mercantile lines are well rep-
resented, and all the country produce
finds a ready market here. The dty
has four banks, with a total capitaliza-
tion of $325,000 and deposits of $625,-
000. One Cumberland Presbyterian,
one Roman Catholic, two Baptist, two
Methodist and two Christian churches
constitute the religious foci, and the
fraternal societies are unusually well
represented. Paragould has the repu-
tation of being the best church-going
city of its size in the state.

In the way of educational advan-
tages the city has two public schools
with a third in course of building, to
cost $20,000, the Thompson Qassical
Institute, Justice's Academy, Parrish
Business College and St. Mary's
Parochial Academy.

The Parrish Business College was
founded June 14, 1899. A charter was
obtained in 1900. The average an-
nual attendance for the first four
years was about ninety. The enroll-
ment last year was 135. B. S. Parrish,

PARAGOULD SANrTARIUlC

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PARAGOULD, ARKANSAS

255

B.S., is the president and the guiding
spirit With well-appointed and ample
Utilities, both in the way of building
and equipment, backed by a manage-
ment tljat recognizes that education in
any line must be comprehensive, logi-
cal and thought-producing, this in-
stitution has forged rapidly to the
front and is building up a far-reach-
ing reputation. At present the school
has in its^ enrollment students from
fourteen different states, and its
graduates have no difficulty in obtain-
ing high-grade positions.
Another institution of great merit

the building of this institution. There
is a Baptist Room, a Maccabees'
Room, a Methodist Room, a Mrs. M.
E. Dickson Room, a Qerk's Room,
and a M. F. Collier Room.

This beautiful sanitarium is the out-
growth of the faith and works of Drs.
A. G. and H. N. Dickson. Any one
in Paragould will tell you that these
gentlemen are not only skilled physi-
cians and surgeons, but that they pos-
sess a fine spirit of altruism and are
completely absorbed in the delicate
and intricate duties and obligations of
.their profession. They are the busi-

PUTJLIC SCHOOL BUILDING

is the Paragould Sanitarium. It is
one of the most beautiful pieces of
architecture in northeast Arkansas,
and one of the best-equipped sani-
tariums in the South. It is a five-
story building, including a conrnio-
dious concrete basement The foun-
dation is stone, the walls pressed
brick. It has mansard gables and broad
concrete porches, with lofty colonial
columns, and with its commanding
position and pleasing outlines it is de-
cidedly the most imposing building in
Paragould. The equipment is com-
plete, and every department is a model
of neatness and utility. The people of
Paragould took a pardonable pride in

est and most useful men in Greene
County, and under their management
the Paragould Sanitarium radiates
beneficent forces whose value cannot
be calculated. It should be especially
mentioned that this sanitarium is
equipped with a general library of
seven hundred volumes for the use of
the patients, donated by the citizens of
Paragould.

The greatest asset any town may
possess is the public-spiritedness of its
citizens. Two men who have done
more for Paragould than any others
are M. F. Collier, president of the
Paragould Trust Company, and J. R.
Taylor, editor of the daily and weekly

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THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

Soliphone. Mr. Collier is perhaps the
best loved man in Greene County. He
is a man of large purposes and liberal
sympathies. He never turns a deaf
ear to any worthy enterprise and sets
such an example of pure, unselfish,
instinctive co-operation and rare, gen-
tle faith in the ultimate good of all
honest endeavor that, if practiced
universally, would transform this old
pushing, seething earth into a Para-
dise. I have said this much because

Among the other prominent Ten-
nesseans is S. R. Simpson. Mr. Simp-
son IS a lawyer, who has made him-
self felt in the state. He has held the
position of district attorney for sev-
eral terms from the Paragould dis-
trict, and takes an active and intelli-
gent interest in public affairs. Mr.
Simpson is also a product of Big Bot-
toms, Humphreys County, all of
which leads me to believe Aat Big
Bottoms, Humphreys County, is tall

the man is a type of gentleman we are
badly in need of, and because right
at this point I feel that I should be
allowed this little preachment.

J. R. Taylor, the editor of the Soli-
phone, is a native of Tennessee. He
was born in Williamson County, but
was principally raised in Big Bottoms,
Humphreys County. Everything in
Paragould centers from the Soliphone
office. The plant is equipped with
linotypes and modern presses, and is
a model newspaper plant. Mr. Taylor
is a man of force, a student of eco-
nomic problems and his paper is a
pioneer in Arkansas. The Paragould
Democrat is a weekly paper. Charles
H. Stewart is the editor, and his paper
displays marked ability.

timber when it comes to raising big
men.

The receipts of the Paragould post-
office for the fiscal year ending June
30, 1907, were $11,968. This was an
increase of over forty per cent over
the preceding year. Mr. J. H. Mc-
Pherson is the postmaster.

If this portraiture does not con-
vince the reader that Paragould and
Greene County are favored spots of
earth, then they are dull of compre-
hension. Here are conjoined all the
forces and resources necessary ta
build up happy and prosperous lives.
As yet the earth has only been tickled
in this favored country, and the cry is,
"Come over into Macedonia and 'help-
us."

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THE HAYDEN ft BROWN SANITAWUM, NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE

THE HAYDEN AND BROWN SANI

TARIUM

While the South sets strongly to-
ward total prohibition, there still re-
mains in the wake of the liquor traffic
the shattered wrecks of once-promis-
ing, hopeful men. That saner, better
days are coming is one of the best
signs of the age, but the disasters with
us to-day, that intemperance has al-
ready caused, are melancholy and
pitiable.

Few persons, perhaps, have looked
upon this affliction in it$ true light.
Few realize that the confirmed alco-
holic is suffering from a disease just
as truly as the typhoid patient or the
leper.

"But," some might argue, "they
brought it on themselves."

Possibly true. Humanity is always
frail. However, a tendency to alcohol-
ism is often inherited, often it is the
result of a mere pleasant social in-
clination that otherwise is very pleas-
ing and attractive, and then often it
is the effort of a wracked mind strug-
gling to escape a mental torture, to
which you, too, O untempted critic!
might succumb. But whatsoever the

source, heredity, pain or the most will-
ful wantonness, the sufferer deserves
our kindliest sympathy and attention,
because after it is done, the victim is
a sick man, to a great degree an irre-
sponsible man.

It is a disease characterized by the
most appalling physical and moral ef-
fects. No other malady so saps the
fiber of manhood, and especially is this
true of drug addictions. Everything
points to the fatal results of the dis-
ease. Life, literature, art combine in
painting its hideous and protean forms
and still

"the solemn brood of care
Plods on and each one as before will

chase
His favorite phantom."

And is there to be no halting, no
let-up in this Bacchanalian orgy?
Must hollow-eyed Opium and bloated
Rum forever stretch palsied hands to-
ward the ghost of Pleasure ?

Slowly the medical profession is
answering that question. Slowly the
physician realizes that alcoholism is
curable and that the hideous bur-

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2s8 ' THE TAYLOR -TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

den of intemperance rests in great tarium is dedicated to this noble and

part on their shoulders. Christ-like cause.

Long ago Dr. Keeley made pioneer Drs. Hayden and Brown in charge,

explorations in this field. Others fol- -are both enthusiastic workers in this

lowed in his tracks, all the while great field of humanity. Both men

gradually improving the methods of have had ample experience in hospital

treatment. Where once the eradica- practice, and their complete establish-

tion of the habit from the human sys- ment at 1400 Broadway, employs ev-

tem was fraught with terror, sur- ery remedy known to the medical sd-

rounded by pain and suffering, to-day ence that goeis to further their spc-

the treatment for both the drug and dalty.

the whisky habit is painless, easy, The illustration at the head of this

not even uncomfortable. article shows their pleasant and com-

It is to Nashville's credit that she modious quarters, and every reader

has procured in her midst an institu- of the Taylor-Trotwood can but

tion devoted to the relief of such suf- wish these two earnest men God-

ferers. The Hayden and Brown Sani- speed in their work.

EVERYDAY PHILOSOPHY

By William J. Burtscher

Wisdom is hard to get, but still harder to lose.

When in doubt, don't doubt more than is necessary.

The secret of happiness is to keep the secret going.

When people steal glances their attention is arrested.

Be a gentleman, a whole gentleman, and nothing but a gentleman.

Cheerfulness is a splendid tonic. Take internally, externally and frater-
nally.

Take things as they come, and send them away a little better than they
come.

You can't put a bug info some people's ears until they have been hum-
bugged.

It is an easy matter to see the good in everything when there is enough
good in you.

Think before you speak, while you speak, after you speak and whether you
speak or not.

Some people are content to build air castles, because they cannot build
anything else.

Many attempts to kill two birds with one stone result in losing both birds
and the stone.

If it has seemed good to do good once in a while, it will seem better to do
it twice in a while.

Some men are as honest as the day is long, and as honest as the night is
long after they go to sleep.

Pay as you go; when you can, pay before you go; when you have to,
pay after you go ; whatever the circumstance, pay.

It is an easy matter to conclude that some people have lost their mind, but
it is difficult to name the thing they have found in its place.

No man can forget the mistakes he has made in his past life, because he is
continually reminded of the lessons they have taught him for good.

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THE NEW YOPW

PUBLIC LIBRARY

AFTi^m. i.E^OX AND

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THE TAYLOR=TROTWOOD
MAGAZINE —

VOL. VI

DECEMBER, 1907

NO. 3

AN UNRELIABLE SANTA GLAUS

By Grace MacGowan Cooke and Caroline Morrison

IMME them molas-
ses, Jesse — a Christ-
mas cake ain't fitten
I to eat 'thout hit's got
plenty of molasses
in it."

The little splinter
^!' of a boy staggered
over to the kitchen
table with a big jug
of home-made mo-
lasses. He was so like his mother that
it almost made one laugh to look at
the two of them — she so dark and
passionate and earthborn, he repro-
ducing the very toss of the curl-
crowned head as he flung the thick
locks back from his big eyes.

The woman's foot was bandaged
and laid on a small chair beside her ;
the boy had brought sorghum, lard
and flour to the table drawn up near
at hand that she might mix the Christ-
mas cake. She looked at her bowls
and spoons, her materials — and drop-
ping her head to her arms in the midst
of them she wept unrestrainedly.

"Does yo' foot hurt ye, maw?"
timidly inquired the small boy, pluck-
ing at her sleeve. Dorinda Gallantine
had sprained her ankle coming down
the ridge the day before. "Does it —
does yo' foot hurt ye?"

She sat erect and dried her eyes
with a quick flinging motion of the

hand that was evidently characteris-
tic of her. "No," she said, half sul-
lenly. "I ain't got no call to set here
and bawl like a baby. I better get to
work and undo the meanness I done."

The boy stood awkwardly dragging
the toe of his heavy shoe across a
crack in the kitchen floor. An emo-
tional outbreak scared him almost as
much as pestilence.

"Jesse," she appealed to him with
both hands outstretched, "Tm he'p-
less now — I got to git you to he'p
me. You're 'bliged to go down and
meet Uncle Swaney and send word by
him to — to Duke Proudfoot."

The child looked bewildered. It
was snowing outside; Uncle Swaney
he knew was bringing their Christmas
gifts from town — what had Duke
Proudfoot to do with that? Not but
what he loved Duke, and would go
willingly to carry his dinner up to
the mine ever/ day in the week and
Sunday — but what was his mother
talking about, and crying about?

"What you gittin' me fer Christ-
mas, maw?" he inquired suddenly.
"Is that whut you want me to ketch
Unc' Swaney for and send word to
Duke 'bout?"

"No — no. Listen, honey. You' big
enough to be told 'bout folks marry-
in' an' all sech — "

"You ain't gone and sent for a wife
for me for a Christmas gift?" in-
quired Jesse, with strong distaste.

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262 THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

"Does yo' foot hurt ye, mawT"

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AN UNRELIABLE SANTA CLAUS

263

But his mother did not even smile
at the thought. Her handsome face
was set in lines of terrible anxiety.
She had forgotten the pain in her
injured foot. "Listen, honey," she
repeated. "Me an' Duke Proudfoot
was to have been wed to-morrow —
Christmas day. I was goin' to give
you a new pappy fer a Christmas
oresent."

tig-

lee.

ked

ave,

lly.

Liry

ist-

">he

her

I a

she

the
of

Its.

ten
In't
In't
to
lel,
the

IX-

or-
the
his
li-
he
to
bat
the

ye,
maw," little Jesse observed in a disap-
pointed tone. "Duke's the finest feller
anywheres in this county. I wish't — "

He broke oflF as his mother eyed him
curiously. He was the only male in
her immediate family. Would he long
for swift vengeance on the man who
had scorned her? Would he promise
it, as Bart PingVee had promised ?

When it seemed the child would not
finish, she went on, "Bart said him
an' me could marry to-morrow and

put Duke to shame. He said he'd fix
Duke in the mine. I knowed well
whut he aimed at — I seen him do part
of it. He's cut through the beams that
holds up the slate in Duke's room
whar he works at, an' the whole busi-
ness '11 come down on him when he
strikes pick in the coal."

She related this with a frozen im-
personal air as one whom it did not
concern. ^

"Oh, maw!" burst out the child
with a sob.

"I thought then Fd ruther see Duke
dead than wed to Mandy Scomp. I
know now that I cain't be the cause
of his harmin', an' I want you to take
the nag an' go on down to meet yo'
Unc' Swaney an' send word by him
to Duke not to go into the mine till
he sees everything's all right."

Slow comprehension had been
dawning in the face of the nine-year-
old. "Whar is Duke at?" he asked
with the sobered air of a man as he
went for cap and mittens.

"I reckon he's in town a-gittin' him
a license to wed Mandy Scomp. I
reckon ef he ain't with yo' Unc'
Sw^aney he's apt to be at the
Scompses," she said, chokingly. "Hit
does go agin' a body to send word
thar, but I want no blood on my hands
at Christmas time. You go an' warn
him, and let him wed Mandy. You
an' me c'n take care of each other —
cain't we, son?"

He came over and stood beside her
awkwardly ; mountain people are not
demonstrative, though they love deep-
ly and are faithful. "I ain't a-goin'
nowhars but Scompses," he said final-
ly. **Duke will be right thar — or he'll
be comin' thar — and I'll leave the
word."

Outside, the wind persisted in spite
of the snow; it whirled the white
flakes against blackish green balsams
and tossed feathery drifts higher in
the steep ravines of the mountain.

In the cities and towns trolleys were
clanging up and down the electric
lighted streets, and gay throng^s were

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AN UNRELIABLE SANTA CLAUS

265

genial voice. "Here's yo' Sandy Qaus
— I done fotch Jesse's plunder.
Whar's he at? I reckon I musn't
speak too loud."

With a laudable attempt to moder-
ate the noise he made, Uncle Swaney,
for this was none other, somewhat the
worse for numerous potations at vari-
ous stations of Christmas cheer along
his route, lunged into the room and
threw a burlap sack at her.

Dorinda looked him over carefully.
He was still able to stand on his feet
— with the aid of the door jamb. She
thought he would get home all right.
His condition was not specially sur-
prising or reprehensible for Christ-
mas Eve. "J^sse ain't here right
now," she said finally. "Was there
any change?"

"In the weather? Well, considera-
ble," chuckled the old man, subsiding
on the doorstep, with the half open
door letting in plenty of the good,
fresh air, which the mountain people
love so well that they fellowship it
even in winter. "Oh, you mean is
there any change in my britches pock-
ets? Na'ry cent — naVy cent. Yo'
money jest belt out to git the suit o'
clothes, cloth for tw^o waistes, a candy
orange, an* a Jews-harp."

The white head in the blending
glare of snowy background and ruddy
firelight had a protesque resemblance
to a picture of Santa Claus pinned to
the wall over the bed. "Better look
in th' poke an' shee'f I got everything,"
the old man insisted. He was at the
excessively accommodating stage of
intoxication.

Dorinda was too desperately preoc-
cupied with graver matters to care
even about her son's Christmas gifts.
Her heart was down the gusty, stormy
way with the little nine-year-old and
the ancient horse, questing desperately
for Duke Proudfoot. She feared ter-
ribly that the child might miss him
after all and come back with the er-
rand tmdone. Suppose he did; she
was helpless here; could she detain
Uncle Swaney and get him to assist?

She bent to examine the parcels me-
chanically. Old Swaney nodded in a

dream where the snow was foam on
one cosmic glass of beer.

"For the Lord's sake!" the cry
aroused him. "What does this mean,
Unc' Swaney?" Dorinda had pulled
from the sack a pair of men's trous-
ers, and one highly-polished new shoe
of adult size. "Jesse cain't wear no
sich's that-^he ain't a man growed !"
she remonstrated, and brought out the
remaining gear of a countryman's
Sunday splendor. She knew the coat
— she had tightened the buttons on it
when its owner bought it. There was
no need for Uncle Swaney to slap his
thigh and shout:

"Ef I ain't changed pokes with
Duke Proudfoot! Those thar mus' be
his weddin' clothes — he let out to me
he was in town for the license !"

Dorinda drew back from the gar-
ments as though they had stung her.
"Well, take 'em to him, then," she
cried in a voice of intolerable pain.
"You ain't got no call to bring Duke
Proudfoot's weddin' clothes into this
house!"

The old man was still slapping his
damp trousers, contorting his long,
lean figure and chuckling. "I 'low this
here's as good a place for 'em as any-
whars," he said heartily, sitting u])
and wiping his rheumy old eyes.
"Some say they'd be handiest for him
right here." And he executed a la-
borious wink in what was supposed
to be a -very engaging manner.

Dorinda Gallantine dragged herself
up so that she stood on the uninjured
foot, resting the other knee on the seat
of her chair. "Unc' Swaney," she said
^suddenly in a terrible voice, "I'm
obliged to have somebody to go after
Jesse. If Duke Proudfoot was with
you in town he ain't so likely to go
to the Scompses this night, and Jesse's
gone down thar to find him. Mebl)c
Duke might go to the mine without
seein' Jesse. I — I — somebody's got to
go after the child an' make sure."

"Now don't you take on," coun-
selled old Swaney, comfortably.
"Duke's the likeliest feller in th' Tur-
key Tracks, an* apt to take mighty
good care \ hisse'f. Hit's plumb

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266

THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

snowy to-night, an' ef he don't see
Jesse an' goes on up to the mine —
why, I reck'n you can put off seeing
yer beau till Christmas day — I reck'n
you can."

Again he executed that elaborate
but shackling wink.

"He's fixin' to wed Mandy Scomp
to-morrow," burst out the woman,
short of breath like one who has run
far. "Bift that ain't no reason why
you 'n' me should be stealin' his wed-
din' clothes. Take 'em back to him.
Unc' Swaney, an'. tell him that it ain't
safe fer him to go into the mine;
there's death thar a-waitin' fer him."

"Sho'," said the old reprobate, sit-
ting suddenly more erect and sobering
a bit. "Has he done give you the mit-
ten for Mandy Scomp? An' some o'
yo' other beaux is layin' for him in
the mine, air they?"

"I've said all I've got to say," re-
plied Dor in da miserably. *T want you
to take Duke's clothes down to the
Scompses an' leave 'em there. Ef you
see him — tell him what I said 'bout
the mine."

"But I tell you," the old man roused
himself and tried to gather his drowsy
wits together, 'T tell you he ain't a-
going to Scompses to-night. He said
somethin' 'bout — good Lord, what
fools we both air — he'll come a-past
here to bring Jesse's truck as soon as
he finds him an' me changed pokes
when he left the w^agon."

The unreliable Santa Claus came in
and stood in the middle of the floor,
scratching his gray head and looking
about him. "It's mighty warm an'
com f 'table in here," he cogitated.
"Looks turrible stormy outside. Duke
ain't a-goin' to pester them things o'
Jesse's. A growed man like him don't
want candy oranges and Jews-harps."
He giggled impotently. "Better let
hitn play Sandy Claus fer a spell —
I've done went out of the business.
Duke'll bring your truck, I make no
doubt."

Dorinda sank back in her chair and
stared up at the tall, old white-headed
man with fear-struck eyes. Her little
boy was out in the storm, and this

tipsy old creature could never be per-
suaded to go look for him. Jesse
w^ould certainly take the ridge road
coming back, in the hope that he
might intercept Uncle Swaney, and
that ridge short-cut, which was little
more than a path, abounded in sharp
declivities and slippery slopes, with the
rocks heaped under.

"Unc' Swaney," she pleaded, "take
that thar lamp and set hit in the win-
der. Ef you won't go out an' look
fer Jesse an' Duke, we'll put the light
in the winder anyhow. Lord, mebbe
hit'll lead 'em astray ! Mebbe if Jesse's
alone he'll try to guide by it, and not
let the nag take her own way. Do you
reckon tlie lamp '11 be a hindrance,
Unc' Swaney? Oh, God -is a-punish-
ing me right now !" And she hid her
face in her hands.

The old man looked benevolently
down on her. He felt a great welling
up of words in him. The need for
some one to expend his loquacity upon
was great. "Mighty few young things
got enough blind faith in path-find-
iii'," he pronounced oracularly, and
was going on, when a faint, far cry
from the outside interrupted him.

Dorinda was up in an instant, push-
ing her chair and hobbling toward the
door. "Open it," she ordered. "Open
it quick, Unc' Swaney!"

For a long moment the old man and
the helpless woman stood looking at
each other in the firelit cabin, with the
wild white storm whirling outside, and
no sound came to them. Then there
were voices — two of them — ^that
laughed and jested.

Duke Proud foot sprang lithely up
the steps of the rickety little porch
with Jesse on his back.

"I brung yo' a Christmas g^ft, Do-
rindy," he said smilingly, with half
apprehensive eyes on her face.

She shook her heavy hair round her
burning cheeks and looked down, a
hand fumbling at her lip, as she an-
swered awkwardly, "I'm mighty glad
Jesse found ye, Duke. I couldn't 'a'
stood it for you to have an accident
at the mines — to-morrow."

Proud foot set tlie child down and

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A PRAYER

267

stared at him with the eye of a pro-
prietor — a prospective father. ."Fine
boy, Unc' Swaney!" he observed ab-
sently. Then he added with more vi-
vacity :

"You old eejit, you got my poke an'
left me the one with Jesse's things in
it! Here it is," and he hung it across
the child's shoulder.

"Sure," hastened Dorinda, with a
little shaky laugh, "Unc' Swaney is
the po'est Sandy Claus that's out this
night, I reckon. Here's yo' weddin'
clothes, Duke — take 'em, with my
good wishes," she added in a burst of
generosity.

The tall young fellow came close
and caught her two hands. "Hit'll
have to be more'n good wishes you
give for my weddin','* he said in a
masterful tone. "Jesse done told me
all that foolishness that Bart Pingree
had with you concernin' Alandy
Scomp and me. Good Lord, Doritxly,
you was mighty easy persuaded!"

A note of reproach in the tones
hurt the woman past bearing. She
turned to hide her face from those
loving, accusing eyes, anywhere — any-
where — and found refuge against his
shoulder.

"Did Jesse tell ye all — all, the awful
meanness I was willin' to have did to
ye?" she inquired in muffled tones,
from that sanctuary.

"We ^n't never going to mention
It," declared Duke Proudfoot. "You
thought when you was mad that you'd
let the thing go on — but you see you
never done so. I'v^ got the license in
my pocket, the preacher is coming up
to the cabin, 'cause me an' Jesse
stopped a-past and told him your foot
was hurt an' you couldn't get out.
We'll be wed on Christmas day, jus'
like you promised."

The old man remembered a patient
nag standing under the little log sta-
ble shelter, and a yet more patient and
overworked wife at home waiting for
the Christmas things that he was
bringing. He backed toward the door,
staring at the couple, blissfully oblivi-
ous of him, and he winked indus-
triously at Jesse.

"Well, folks," he shouted when he
was in the doorway, "I reckon the
next time you hire a Sandy Claus,
you'll git one that'll mix the pokes
jes' th' same's I did. Hit seems to 'a'
worked well !"

A PRAYER

What for the fagot's flame?
What for the hate and wrong?
Lord God, I bless thy name,
I, suffering, am strong.

But, Father, in thy grace.
Keep from woe's wild unrest,
The woman and the baby face.
Soft pillowed on her breast.

Robert Lovcman.

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CHRISTMAS AT THREE PINES

By John Trotwood Moore

HE young man

stopped and listened

— his billiard cue

poised for a cushion

carom. It was Ida-

h o Mack, w h o,

drunk among his

band of cowboys, was

talking. The shout

which followed was

uproarious.

"Oh, she'll be here to-morrow on

the first stage, good enuff — Mack's

bride — an' a beaut as her phiz will

show."

Captain Condon did not speak but
shifted his cigar in his mouth and
made his play. Then came from the
carousing group a volley of badinage:
"I bet she's a ol' maid, tough as
jerked buffalo."

''Mack's a peach — the boss broncho
buster turned Romeo !"

"Mack, you're lyin' — you couldn't
fool ary 'oman with the face youVe
got."

"That's the best yet," said Mack,
looking cautiously toward the two
young men who were playing bil-
liards at the other end of the bar.
"I used a photograph as proxy — a
handsome fellow with sto' clo's on,
an' I'll bet—"

It was lost in the roar, but the
young surgeon from Fort Bayard
who was also playing billiards, walked
over to the group of excited cowboys,
and Condon played on indiflferently
• — but listening closely.

The surgeon walked carelessly up
to the crowd — cowboys from Bar lOO
across the line, miners from the Ma-
gellan Mountains, prospectors, gam-
blers, and the piping, jollying voice
of the woman who ran the faro table,

high above all. They called her the
Countess of Monte Faro and it was
her place, though Jimmy Ike ran the
bar.

The cowboys had been drinking all
day. Their laugh proved that, for in
it was the queer ring which bordered
on the maniac's — the laugh of the
cowboy w ho has drunk not wisely but
too \ve\\.

They had come in from the plains
that day to spend Christmas week led
by Idaho Mack. His real name was
James Mcintosh, but it had long
grown to be too dignified for the
deeds done under it. He was a half-
breed Scotsman, the rest Mexican,
.with a dash of Arapaho; and in the
language of Jimmy Ike himself, when
Mack's deeds came up — three mur-
ders, two street killings, even in the
short life of Three Pines — "the same
is enuff said, one te'ch of Arapaho
bein' moral pizen."

There had been a still darker crime
suspected. It was in the early '8o's
when Colonel Theodore Condon, a
gentleman of the old school from Vir-
ginia, had gone into the Magellan
Mountains to inspect some gold mines
he had purchased, taking Mcintosh
as guide. He was found dead, shot
from ambush — and the vociferous
mourning of Mcintosh had cast the
first grave suspicion on the guide.
In after years w'hen he became known
as Idaho Mack, who imbibed often
and talked much when drunk, he con-
firmed the suspicions when he showed
the Colonel's gold watch to a crowd
of would-be-bullies, and remarked
that there were more ways of getting
gold than by digging it from the
ground !

It was an accident, merely, that to-

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CHRISTMAS AT THREE PINES

269

night the nephew of Colonel Condon,
who had inherited the mines, had
walked in with a young army surgeon
from Ft. Bayard, to play billiards.
Condon came in smiling, handsome,
with the air of good breeding about
him, even in his mining corduroys.
His blue eyes alone spoke — for he
was given to silence — and they looked
quickly through the thing they saw.

His companion came back flushed
and excited.

''Cond, it beats the devil — what do
you suppose he has done?"

Condon shifted the cigar again in
his mouth and his blue eyes fell on
his companion, the lids drooping slop-
ingly downward like the curve of an
interrogation point.

"He is going to marry to-morrow
— ^a school girl from some eastern col-
lege. She'll be in on the stage from
Silver City and the boys are fixing
to give him a proper send-off."

The cigar shifted nervously. ''What
dirt did he do, Val, to fool her?"

"Sent her the picture of a gentle-
man and got that Jew lawyer to write
her his love letters. You know how
he writes."

Mack, himself, could now be heard:

"All's fair in love and cards, pard,
an' so I let Lawyer Moses there,
write the love letters — you ought to
see him quote the poets. He makes
common ever'day English look like
a salted mine when the water's riz —
but it corralled her — him and the
picture and the signachoor, Sefior Ida-
ho Mcintosh."

"She'll faint when she sees the 'rigi-
nal !" said a cowboy.

"She will," said Mack, "but Mister
Mclntosh'll be there to help hold her,
an' if you don't think she' a peach to
hold, look here at this picture and lis-
ten to this letter," and he flourished
the two above their heads.

The picture was passed around.
Condon did not see it, but he knew
the cowboy nature and when the pho-
tograph passed before them and
brought silence instead of shouts, he
knew it was passing fair, with that
touch of the Madonna that stirred

up out-lived instincts in the rough
men who gazed.

"Alice in Wonderland" — sniflFed
the Countess, cynically, when it
reached her — "Helen of Troy in a
hothouse" — for the Countess had an
education of her own, as she boasted.
She was silent a moment and her pip-
ing voice fell lower as she added
coarsely :

"I can't see that she's any better
than the other doves you've helped
soil. Ain't you jes jokin' about all
this, Mack?" she asked suddenly,
jumping up and throwing herself
back, gazing at Mack through the
half lowered lids of her eyes.

"The letter beats that," said Mack,
not noticing her.

"Let me read it to 'em," the Coun-
tess suggested, "or* read it yo'self."

"Traid I can't," said Mack, "you
see my early education consisted
mostly in pcrsuadin' cattle to keep on
tor'ds the North. Didn't have no
time for book larnin' — here, you read
it yo'se'f, Countess." '

The Countess was willing. She
drew h\tT skirt tragically around her,
took the letter and struck an elocu-
tionary attitude, looking coquettishly
around.

"Oh, my ! — smell it !" she sniflFed.

She had opened it — immaculate,
white, save where the dirt from
Mack's thumb had smeared the head-
ing, — and passed it to the nearest cow-
boy. He gave a reverent whiff and
passed it to the next. It made the cir-
cle, like the picture — in reverence and
silence, carrying with it an odor of
violets that mingled strangely with
the smell of pipe and alcohol.

"Jes' lak the fus' Valentine I got
in the little old town, long ago," said
one at last, and the silence deepened.

"It's from a girl's school in Virgin-
ia — Staunton — " went on the Coun-
tess, looking at the heading.

Condon stopped half way in a dif-
ficult cushion shot, and listened as
the woman's voice rang out in the old
far-fetched, high-keyed Friday after-
noon way of long ago:

"I have never told you, my dear

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

Mr. Mcintosh, why I am going to be
so foolish as to marry you without
ever having ^een you. Of course, I
do not love you now — how could one
whose life has never, until now, lacked
for all the love of life — father, rfioth-
er, brother — a sweet dream so soon
dreamt — oh, how can I write the
awakening? But only a year ago
dear mama died and brother — my dar-
ling brother followed. Now — now
— how can I write it? — Papa — they
tell me he is going to marry again —
he has forgotten us — Mama — brother
and me. I have told you before of our
family independence — it runs in our
blood — ^and combativeness — perhaps
more — revenge — for we have a trace
of Pocahontas in us and we have ever
been brave. Papa fought with Stone-
wall in the valley and came out a col-
onel and is now a judge here in Vir-
ginia. We love hard when w^ love,
and oh, I did worship Papa — until
now — now my heart is broken — "

The Countess stopped. Her piping,
strained voice had started blithely,
but ended in a broken, hysteric crack.
The woman in the letter had gotten
into the woman of her.

*'I — cain't— finish it— the po' little
thing — my father did that same thing
— an' me — I was jes' as well raised
— ^as — she — " And she sobbed and
sat down.

"ril finish it for you, Madam."

It was Condon who spoke to her
and never before, since she had seen
Three Pines for the first time, had
any one spoken to her in that way —
as if she were a countess, indeed.

"All right, sir," she stammered,
wiping her eyes and handing him the
letter. "I wouldn't choose to try to
finish it — it brought my own beauti-
ful life back so, you know, gents,"
she said, looking around.

. Condon had seized it eagerly. The
cigar had been sucked back deep and
decisively into one corner of his
mouth. His blue eyes flashed, yet he
showed no emotion as he coolly read,
while fitful scowls shot out at him
from Mack's black eyes:

"I have studied your letters care-

fully," he read on, "and how beauti-
ful they are 1 You, too, were bom in
Virginia and educated at Washington
and Lee. I know from this that you
will never deceive me, and you will
never find a white feather in the hat
of your wife. Then, too, I have heard
so much about the g^and West— I
have longed so much to go there and
ever since Papa has abandoned and
deserted me — oh, I shall kill myself
if I find you have deceived me — for I
will carry a pistol for that purpose—
for the Randolphs all can shoot—
themselves as well as others, and oh,
to be with mama again !"

He stopped and glanced at the sig-
nature. There was silence and it was
broken by a shuffling of feet and a
young cowboy exclaimed:

"You'll stop right there, Cap'n.
You'll hafter get a colder-blooded lot
o' kyotes 'n this here bunch is to lis-
ten to the end. Why, that high-blood-
ed school gal, heart broken by the
death of her mammy and knocked
silly by her dad's yokin' up with an-
otlier runnin'-mate so soon after-
why it's too much for her 1"

The cowboy had said it all. One of
those touches of nature that sends a
full flow down the canyons of human-
ity, fell upon them, turning them into
meadows Qf tenderness* One by one
they strolled away, leaving Mack and
the reader alone with the Countess.
The two men looked intently at each
other.

"Now look here. Mack— you've
carried this to» far." It was the
Countess who spoke. "If she'd been
o' my stripe now — "

" Yo' stripe !" and Mack's malicious
little eyes burned her with their white
light of anger — "D'ye think I'd ever-
've wanted her if she'd been sech as
you? Once in every man's life he
finds a pearl — an' this un's mine. No,
by God, she'll be here to-morrow to
marry Mr. Mcintosh, and Mr. Mc-
Intosh'll marry her 'er know why,"
and he glanced at the reader of the
letter while his hand fell on a knife
at his belt. '

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CHRISTMAS AT THREE PINES

271

Condon did not reply, but calmly
put the letter in his pocket.

Mack sprang towards him, hissing :

"Give me that letter!" — and his
right hand struck like a hawk at the
knife in his belt.

He looked up in time to see and
act. For Condon had thrown his pis-
tol carelessly over his left arm and
the muzzle was in six inches of Mack's
heart. Moreover, Condon was smil-
ing coolly in Mack's face, a smile
which the latter knew meant death
and death quickly, and he turned and
walked oflF.

The woman had squatted on the
floor between them.

"Shoot high, gents, for heaven's
sake! I'm right between you!"

A hand touched Condon and he
turned. It was the young army sur-
geon. "Come, Cond," he said quietly,
"we need freer air than this."

The woman watched them go out,
drinking in the cool poise of Condon
as he walked.

"He called me madam," she whis-
pered. She watched him till he walked
out, her face pallid, her ea.s hungry
for the sound of his voice again.

Mack walked by, laughing, and
flipped her ear playfully as he passed
her.

She turned, biting her lips:

"You devil — an' you scorn me now

— vou that brought me here !"
♦ ♦ ♦

That night snow fell, and it was
four o'clock the next day before the
stage from Silver Citv struck the first
slopes on the Magellan. It was nearly
dark, for night comes very quickly in
the gor^s of the mountains. The
four half-bred ponies which pulled the
stage were tired, for the game little
fellows, now and then, at the least hint
from the lines, would stop to blow
after the steepest slopes. And Red
Bill, who loved his ponies, had seen
to it that thev rested several times.
"Luckv thev ain't but one nasseniG^er
this kind o' day, an' she jes' a sleepy
gal."

He peeped again through the slit in
the top.

"Why, damme, the little one's gone
to sleep." He was glad of it, for twice
that day he had seen her weeping si-
lently, when he peeped through. Then
he would sit up very stiffly, crack his .
whip and yell at his ponies.

"Now, sump'n 'r 'nother's wrong
thar, an' it's mighty wrong to pester
sech a pretty thing as she is. Why,
she ain't much older'n my Liza wuz
when she died, an' sorter lak her."

But now that she was asleep, her
head pillowed in the comer of the
stage. Bill looked her over carefully.
Never had he seen so beautiful' a pic-
ture. He peeped again, taking it all
in — the heavy eyelashes, drooping
over eyes wet with unshed tears, the
fine, high, upturned forehead and
face, independent — he knew it by the
very little air it carried even while un-
conscious. "An' yet tender," said
Bill, "tender an' game too."

He could look at her all day, the
pretty thing, with her pure curving
lips shut right like a rose unblos-
som^d. Even the dainty shoes and
traveling dress told of her breeding
and her place in the world.

"But game, game that gal is," he
chuckled— "thoroughbred an' she ain't
to be collared by any yaller dog in the
homestretch — oh, hell — "

The ponies had stopped suddenly at
a turn in the road. He cracked his
long whip, but the leader only cut
diagonally across the road and
jammed his front wheel behind the
fifth. Red Bill sat up now and reached
to lay it to them with an oath, when he
saw that two horsemen barred the
road. Bill ducked and reached in the
boot for his gun, but he saw as he
glanced that they held a third horse
with a side saddle up, and that a
negro with an express wagon was
just behind. Then Bill knew that they
had come for the passenger and he
wheeled his ponies in:

"So — ho — there — what's wanted ?
Looks lak you're gwinter stop me,
whether or no" — and he brought his
ponies around deftly.

"Have you a passenger there, Bill?''
It came quietly, pleasantly from the

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man in front, who sat a half thorough-
bred, gracefully, like a fox hunter,
and spoke to Bill as if he were his
equal.

"Yes, a young gal for Three Pines,
and thar is her trunk," and he tapped
the top with the butt of his whip.

*'She'll get out here," came back
pleasantly, as he sprang lightly down,
throwing his bridle to his companion.

"Oh, she will? — wal, it's for her
to say,'' said Bill, doggedly. "My con-
tract was to kerry her to Three Pines,
an' Fve got a habit o' carryin' out my
contracks onless Providentially med-
dled with."

But the young man only smiled
again, as he came forward saying:

"Oh, that's all right, Bill, b.ut you
see she's my niece come for a week's
visit, and didn't know my lodge was
between here and Three Pines."

"Oh," said Bill, "now that ar's dif-
ferent an' so on an' so forth, but I
give mv word an' it's up to the
lady—"'

The girl had awakened and sat stilly
her heart thumping loudly at what
she heard. And Condon, smiling and
cool as he was, when he opened the
door of the stage, flushed hot with
guiltiness when he saw the searching
flash of her first glance into his face.
It was quick and decisive and then
came a smile so quick and warming
that he felt safe in saying :

"I am so glad to welcome you to
the lodge, my dear Janette." And he
held out his hand to help her.

She took them both with a frank,
well-bred cordiality and sprang out,
looking searchingly into his face
again, then she flushed and said qui-
etly:

"You are exactly like your picture,

'even in your mining suit. I am so

glad. Am I, indeed, welcortie? — for

it's the first time — you know — I — ever

— was — away — from papa — "

It was too much for her, keyed as
she was. She broke half way, hys-
terically, trembled and collapsed. He
caught her quickly.

"Cond — Cond — here! I brought

the brandy — let me help you!" his
companion whispered at his elbow.

Condon was agitated — terribly—
for him, for she lay limp on his shoul-
'Icr, 1 cr hair in his face and sobs
sh(;(ik her.

"i\ow, now — you're all right now;
don't cry, little girl — er — er — Miss — "

"Jenny," she whispered, ceasing to
sob and looking up at him with eyes
that sent the blood purpling to his
face.

"Can you — will you — be kind to
me? Papa, you know, — " she shook

aqam.

'You will never regret my meeting
you, my dear — indeed, you will not,"
he said. "You are tired now and un-
strung. But the two-mile ride will
fix you — can you ride? Our moun-
tain roads — "

"Oh, can I?" and the tears gave
way to a rippling, joyous, schoolgirl
laugh. "And have you horses, too —
way out here? Oh, Mr. Mcintosh — "

"Just call me Uncle Tom — for the
l^rcscnt — please,'' he whispered quick-
ly — as he glanced at Red Bill, taking
it all in with undisguised glances of
dissatisfaction.

"Oh, Uncle Tom — of course — you
are the very image of your picture,
and I should have known you any-
where — and — I like that hat and suit
better than the silk hat."

He had thrown her lightly to the
saddle, and from the way she settled,
he knew she Jiad a hunter of her own
at home.

"Oh, what a jolly change — to ride
home over thc,se glorious mountains
instead of being cooped up in that old,
— oh, pray forgive me, Mr. Red Bill,"
and she rode up tp the boot and gave
him her hand with such a pretty grace
that Bill forgot all else. "And you
have been so kind to me. But, you
see, I am so happy in seeing Uncle
Tom," and she laughed gaily.

"Sorry to part with you, mum,
danmed sorry," said Bill feelingly —
"for we don't see yo' stripe o' cattle
in these parts often. Now Cap'n Con-
don, thar — "

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CHRISTMAS AT THREE PINES

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She turned quickly and a wjive of
terrifying doubt crossed her pretty
face.

"He means me, ma'am," whispered
the surgeon hastily, at her stirrup,
and thumping his chest vigorously for
identification. "I am Captain Con-
don."

"Oh," she said, her eyes gladdening
prettily.

Then he turned quickly to Condon
and whispered :

"Say, Cond, old boy, did you hear
that? Now, if you want really to be
that uncle — why — here's me — Captain
Condon— you know — no kin to her —
entirely free — you see — don't give fne
away-—"

He stopped. She had ridden up to
them, flushed and quiet. Condon
stepped to meet her and —

"Will you now take this, please.
Uncle Tom?" She handed him a
pearl-handled pistol which she took
from her bosom. "I will not need it
now — it — it was to — if you had not
been as you said — if you had deceived
me—

He took it quickly. "You can trust
me," he said, simply.

Her trunk had been put into the
wagon and they rode off, she throw-
ing back a. kiss to Red Bill, which
completely unsettled him for the drive
to Three Pines.

Into the night she rode — Hke a lady
of old — two knights by her side and a
servant behind.

The lodge lay in a pretty plateau, a
rude, picturesque house of great hewn
logs, one story, but abounding in
rooms. The chimneys w^ere of huge
boulders, square and strong. Beyond
them, in the background, rose peak
after peak, and below was the valley,
deep almost to canyon depths, a
branch of the Gila winding like a tube
of mercury through its sides of snow.

Hounds met them at the door, and
horses neighed in the stables nearby —
sounds which made the girl rider feel
homesick in their naturalness.

The large hall was decorated with
guns and the trophies of the chase,

and everywhere were evidences of
bachelor dom in comfort.

But a greater and more homelike
surprise greeted Jenny. At the door
of the lodge, in welcome, stood a
black figure in spotless bandanna and
apron.

"It's my old cook," said Condon,
"who is also my lodge keeper."

"Mammy, you may welcome my
niece, who has come to visit us — and
remember, she is your especial
charge."

"This is too good to be true, Uncle
Tom, — " and she hugged the old
woman impulsively while the black
face glowed with smiles of welcome.

Silver Lodge never had so beauti-
ful a picture as the supper table
showed that night.

"Cond, old man," said the surgeon,
as they smoked after supper, "did you
ever see anything so queenly? Some
people are born lucky — shy, but it
hits us hard now and then — and I was
thinking just now, seeing her pour the
tea with the grace born of many gen-
erations of it — say, but I was thinking,
Cond, if it made no particular dif-
ference to you, you know — you quiet
old bachelor — set in your ways — one
of which, old man, you know, has
been never to marry, you know — .
Now, as I was saying — if, since it
makes no difference to yon, you might
play that uncle game right on to a
finish and — and — just let me be Cap-
tain Condon, you know — rescuing her
from that cut-throat, and so forth and
so on, you know?"

Condon flushed and lan,c:hed. and
for the first time in his life, he felt,
in the quick chagrin of such happen-
ings, that this girl, who now held the
lodge, held also a strange new place
in his heart. Like the old shepherd
watchers of the fold bv night, into
whose vision had suddenly come a
new planet, his heart heat with the
glory of his discovery, and, like them
of old, he wonld gladlv have sat up
and watched her all night. For her
beauty, her well-bred ways, her cheer-
fulness and her sweetness held hini

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274 THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

peculiarly. She had no secrets from How beautiful she looked in her

hinr — no uncertainties. She had come light silk gown, her hair massed low
there to marry him. She was a lady on her neck — tall, splendid, a woman

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"Pleasant dreams, my dear/' he
said, rising again, "and you must call
on Mammy to help you — she has for-
gotten much in this strange country."

She glanced up shyly. What an
air he had, and how self-possessed!

"But — I wanted to talk to you some
—as I always did to papa — and do
you know you so remind me of him ?"

She pulled her chair up closer.

"I wanted to thank you again for
not deceiving me and yet I felt — I
knew from your picture and letters
that you were incapable of deception."

"I thank you, Jenny," he said, ten-
derly. He looked across the room —
Surgeon Val had prudently departed.

"Do you know," he went on, "that
I am not at all disappointed in you
either — really, little girl — really, if I
had had the making of you, not one
change would I make."

She clapped her hands with girlish
laughter.

"Oh, isn't It good of you to say
that— isn't it too romantic — and you
really think I am — am — all you could
wish for?"

"The most beautiful, glorious crea-
ture I have ever beheld," he said gal-
lantly — and then flushed to his ears
at his first love w'ords to any woman.

"Oh, — " and she clasped her hands
again, while her eyes shone. Silence.
Then —

"Do you remember the first letter
you wrote me, after I answered your
advertisement, the night I first heard
that papa was going to — "

She got no further. She had her
head on !iis arm again, and he was
stroking her hair, a great love and
pride swelling within him and a ten-
derness he had never known before.

"Don't cry, sweetheart," he looked
around again — and his heart beat
wildly— but Surgeon Val was not in
sight.

She looked up through her tears,
smiling.

"You must call me Jenny, now" —
she said shyly — "it is not proper to
call me that until — until—"

Never in his life had he thought
so little of himself. Perhaps she did

not care for him. The thought of it
sent queer, reckless, maddening feel-
ings through him.

"But those letters," she went on —
"oh, they were beautiful! I have
every one of them and the picture.
Do you carry mine around with you as
I carry yours? It is silly of me — I
know you will think so, — but, in that
awful, stuffy little hotel at Silver City,
last night — oh, I was so lonely I could
not sleep until — until — I put your pic-
ture under my pillow — "

She burned crimson, but he reached
and took her hand. He determined to
make a clear breast of it all. .

"No — no — " she said primly — "not
my hand — not yet — "

"My God, Jenny, child — I fear I
have made a terrible mistake — I — "

She drew back hastily and a silent
terror began to creep into her eyes.

"I — ought not to have tried to take
your hand — I mean — Jenny, I — "

"Oh," she smiled— "well— youVe
forgiven this time, naughty boy. But
answer my question : Do you care for
the picture I sent you — the one in
tlie Juliet costume? Oh, we girls had
a lovely plav and I was Juliet." She
sighed. "They are broken hearted to-
night that I have run away — and Miss
Cooper — oh, that poor old soul is dis-
tracted, I know. I can see the tele-
grams that have flown between her
and papa — but it was — that — or — "

He let her talk on — it held him.
* Never had anything like this glorious
creature come into his earnest, work-
ing life before. Never — and he loved
her — loved her! He felt it in every
pulsation of his heart.

"Where is it, sir? Now where is
my picture?" she asked saucily. "I
have looked in all the rooms I might
go in and it's not in a single one —
this nor the library — "

A great twinkle crept into the dark
of her eyes. She drew from her
bosom a picture, blushing prettily as
he took it.

One glance was enough — it was
he — taken at Three Pines a year be-
fore, by a Jocal photographer, who
had proudly used it as a trade-mark

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

to hang in the window of his gallery
until he had left between two suns.

''Where is mine — honor bright, sir?
You cannot deceive your future wife,
and you a Virginian, too."

But he did — the first time in his
Hfe — so strange are the perfidies
which love puts into men's hearts. He
looked her in the eye and said: "It
IS hanging where I can see it the first
thing every morning."

She was satisfied — she laughed hap-
pily and then sighed, dreamily :

"Now I'm going to Mammy and to
bed. But before 1 go 1 am going to
read that beautiful letter again — the
one about my eyes looking so like
Idaho stars above the snow-lit plains
at night — and my face — so fair --like
the mountains covered with snow —
and my hair — was — was — the trailing
mist of the morning rising from the
canyons of the river bed — oh, it was
all so beautiful — so poetical! How
beautifully you do wTite — and — and —
after we are married — you will not
stop — writing them. Oh, you will
not ! You will go down the mountain
and make believe you have gone, and
write to me again that way every
day."

He swore vehemently that . he
would !

"Now ril kiss you good-night," she
said shyly, looking around. She did,
and his face paled like a snow-capped
mountain, then iLimcd as wdien the
volcano's breath comes up again.

"V'al," he said when the surgeon
came in — "was ever a man in such a
fix? You can guess what that cut-
throat has done, can't you?"

"Yes, but say, old boy, now seri-
ously — don't bother about that — real-
ly I am not joking — "

"Why, you everlasting fool," cried
the other hotly — "don't you see —
can't you see Tm crazy about her, and
she — why, Yal. she said herself she'd
die if I deceived her. So hush up
with that silly talk."

"Oh, well," said V^al, sulkily, "if
you're going to marry her of course
that settles it."

"No, it does not settle it. Why,

Val, do you think Yd be such a dog
as to marry her without her father's
consent? I have wired her father,
Judge Randolph, to come and get
her," was Condon's reply.

Val arose : "Well, I'm thinking I'm
not the only fool. But I'm thinking,
too, that that doesn't end it."

"What?" from Condon, coolly.

"Why, when Red Bill gets to Three
Pines and tells his tale, there'll be
trouble ahead for us w'ith that half-
drunk band of devils. You'll have
trouble with Mack."

Condon arose and lit his cigar.

"I have thought of all that," he
said, slowly. "But when I sent John
in with the telegram I sent word to
Garza, the operator, to send out the
reply as soon as it comes, and the
news has already leaked out, I'm sure.
So that, betw ecu their knowledge that
her father's coming for her and^he
respect her picture created that night
— you remember — I don't believe
Mack can get up very many followers.
Of course, if worse comes to worst,
we'll do our best to continue to pro-
tect the little girl."

"Of course we will — you can just
count on me right with you all the
time." The surgeon spoke with feel-
ing and grasped his friend's hand.
Both looked up as Mammy came tip-
ping softly from the girl's room.

"One thing more, Val," hastily whis-
pered Condon, "if anything does hap-
pen to me — if you're the one that
liands her to her father — promise me
not to let her know the fate from
which we saved her — the realization
of it would kill her."

For the next two days Jenny took
charge of things in Silver I odge, and
went in for an old Virginia Qiristmas
Never had she been so happy, she de-
chred : never could she have been so
beautiful, the others thought. There
was a delicious odor mingled with the
red cedar in the huge logs of the hall
— of fruit cake and burnt almonds and
nutmegs. Once or twice Condon
caught sight of pretty bared arms,
where her sleeves were rolled up, and
a big apron coming (iown over everv-

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277

thing except the high-born face and
the coil of exquisite auburn hair,
rolled splendidly above and crowning
all.

"But you must stay on your own
side — you two," she would add sauci-
ly, when they were unable to resist
longer and peeped, "for Mammy and
I are going to surprise you with a
real Qiristmas/'

After that he smelt only the Christ-
mas odors when he came in from the
mines at night, and with the tangible
odors came the intangible thing
which he knew was love. There was
no need trying to conceal it longer —
he loved her — and she saw and knew,
but not from word of his. And the
knowing made her more beautiful.

So completely and artlessly did the
girl enter into her new life that when
she had been three days in the house
she seemed a component part of it,
and her pretty airs of assured posses-
sion made Condon's heart leap with
the hope of happiness to come.

"Jenny," he said, as they sat at
breakfast the day before Christmas,
"I'm obliged to go into Three Pines
to-day — you don't mind staying here
alone wdth old John and Mammy, do

you

She looked at him archly.

"Why of course not — Fll be too
busy with my Christnias cakes and my
wedding cake." Again she smiled
brightly. "I think you're a mind read-
er, Tom, for I was thinking only last
night that I would like to be married
on mother's wedding anniversary —
you know I've told you of her sudden
and romantic marriage at a Christmas
house party. Papa — "

She could go no farther and Con-
don soothed her until she looked up
smiling again.

"Now I must hurry off, little girl.
Be happy and don't be surprised at
what to-day brings."

He spoke lightly, but his heart was
heavy. He knew she thought his er-
rand was for the marriage license, and
he could not tell her that John's daily
trip to town .had brought no reply

from her father, and that he suspected
Garza of withholding it at the in-
stance of Idaho Mack. He shuddered
at the thouo^ht of the cowboy's trick,
and placed his hand protectingly upon
the auburn head.

"Tom," she said, earnestly, "I can't
tell you how glad I am that I an-
swered your advertisement and that
you are — you. But even if you had-
n't been the one that wrote the let-
ters I should have loved you anyway
— because you are you."

She raised licr face to his and
kissed him swiftly, yet shyly.

He rode out into a fierce storm, but
it burned hot in his heart all day.

When the tw^o men rode into Three
Pines there were ominous signs
which were easily interpreted — heads
poked stealthily from doorways, and
cow'boys who looked but said nothing.

This was the unwritten sit^nal of
the street fight, and they knew and
rode on, each shiftinc:^ his pistol where
it had settled too deep into its holster.
They went throui^h to the heart of
things, and soon had sentiments their
way. For Three Pines had its own
sense of justice; artd w^hen it was
whis])cred around that Condon had
interfered with no man's love affair
honestly made, but had given an in-
nocent girl a square deal, all but three
of the most desperate friends of Mack
deserted the maddened and threaten-
ing co\vl)oy. Condon pushed it even
to a finish — for he knew it was the
only way to make his victory com-
j)lete — and at the first o])portunity he
pur])osely walked into the circle of
Slack's deadly, malicious eyes, gleam-
ing from the half-caste face, now
reckless with much drink.

The crowd instantly scattered and
there tVll that silence that presaged
the vol!cv of the storm. Both men
stood with their hands on their pis-
tols and neither spoke. Then, for the
first time. Mack knew the difference
between courage that is born and
courage that is made, for the quick,
blue eyes of the American looked him
to a deadly finish. Slowdy Mack's

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black eyes wavered before the cool,
blue ones, and then he sneered, in
sheer bravado:

"An' has Cap'n Condon any objec-
tion to my bein' his nephew?"

"Most decidedly, sir — for even if
the lady had not been deceived and
were willing, in the state she hails
from they do not permit whites and
mixed breeds to intermarry."

Of all things, the cowboy loves wit
which is backed by a cool head, and
in the shout which greeted them from
those who heard, Mack turned and
walked away.

"We will drink to my niece's good
health, gentlemen," said Condon, gra-
ciously turning to the laughing, ad-
miring crowd which now surrounded
him, and in the line-up he knew Three
Pines was for him.

"But you'd better watch him, Cap-
'n," said the tall one who had first
seen the picture passed around by
Mack — "he's a rattlesnake in August
now — blind mad."

Three Pines had a sense of morality
— rough as it was; for Three Pines
had mothers and children.

So the Countess dwelt apart, a mile
away in a mountain-walled spot, made
beautiful — sacredly beautiful by Na-
ture, who makes the world beautiful
for all and knows no Magdalenes.

The Countess had built her home
there and had turned the glory of
nature into gaudiness — that coat of
arms of the impure everywhere.
Alone, except for the society of the
men who. frequented her bar and
gambling tables, she had tried to atone
to her heart burnings with gilded
luxury and had pocketed the means
eagerly by every avenue that vice
finds to spend it.

It was Christmas Eve night. For
days she had thought of Condon, of
the young girl he had saved. Oh,
if she could only be with that kind
for awhile! Her bar was full to-
night. It was her busiest day, but in
her mood — that terrible, strange
mood that had come over her of late.

she could not run her faro tables. At
one of them, alone, she sat. And now
and then the burning in her heart
leaped into a sob in her throat, as she
thought of other Christmas Eves in
her life. Then she had been hippy
and poor, but — "now, now," she cried,
"I have riches and am — nothing-
nothing! It's all hell— hell— that's
what."

She arose and looked around, wip-
ing her eyes. Was it she doing this—
the . Countess of Monte Faro, — on
this, her most profitable night? But
something within her now scorned
profit, something within her heart,
gnawing at her heart roots — roots she
thought had long ago perished, and
that is what surprised her most of all.
Were they revived? Was it all
brought back — those other days when
she could go with her kind and be
one of the social world ? Was all this
yearning and longing, this memory
wave of remorse brought back by a
gentleman lifting his hat and address-
ing her with respect?

She walked to a little corner and

washed her face and powdered it,

'looking into the little bit of mirror

there. Then she walked boldly back

into the barroom.

It was full, and the noise and oaths
she had heard so often now struck
strangely at cross-points to her soul.
They saw her and now it ceased for a
moment as a tree of chattering black-
birds when the hawk darts from the
blue. For the Countess was a hawk
to them always, and sometimes in her
mood, not a beautiful one.

She walked behind the bar and
pulled open the cash drawer. It was
full:

"Hell-dollars," she sniffed and
closed it. Then came a chorus:

"Hello, Countess! — thought you'd
gone."

A half -drunk, handsome cowboy
reached over the bar and pinched,
playfully, her arm. She turned on
him blazing:

"Don't you do that ag'in, Jack—
don't you dare to te'ch me."

She looked appealingly— defiantly

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279

— at the crowd — some of them trying
to catch her hand.

"Gents, please respect me — for
God's sake respect me !"

"Oho," yelled the handsome one —
"Had a change of heart to-day?"

The roar of loud mirth which fol-
lowed this came with a strange thing
to her — a blush.

"Oh, God," she breathed, looking
quickly up and seeing and hearing not
the noise around her — "Oh, God,
maybe IVe got a chance yet— oh, God,
let me blush ag'in !"

She stood amid the oaths and jeers
and foul language, clutching the cash
drawer, praying and crimson. Never
had she felt this way, never so up-
lifted — so proud — to know that she
could blush: "Oh, God," she kept
saying — "Oh, Gk>d that I have trod on
and spit on — let me blush ag'in."

Then she turned to her barkeeper :
"You'll attend to things to-night,
Ikey — IVe got to go home."

"You do look kind o' peakit, Coun-
tess," he said — "maybe you'd better
go home and rest. I'll tend to things."
He flung it at her — not unkindly-
shooting his remarks over his shoulr
der, between the setting up of glasses
and the noisy clamors of the bar.

She opened the cash drawer again.
It had never been so full, but she took
out only a pearl handled revolver,
and with a little reckless flourish, she
thrust it into her bosom.

They glanced at her inquiringly,
and the blackbirds saw the hawk
again, and ceased their chattering, for
there had been strange tales about
the Countess whenever she handled
that pistol, and early in her career at
Three Pines there had been a duel to
death between her and a Spanish
grandee, — shot out between the walls
of her room. And it had been the
Spaniard whom they had buried.

"Nothin* serious, gents," she smiled
— a faint imitation of her old way —
"Pm going home and it's a long walk
an' — ^an' — lonesome." At the door she
paused and waved her hand :

"Good night, gents — Ikey — all — ^be
good an' a merry Christmas !"

She had put on her rich sealskin
cloak. It fell to her heels. Above it
the long ostrich plumes of her big
hat trembled, and she stalked out in
her old way — out until she knew they
saw her no longer. Then the stage
way left her — the strut — the uplifted
head. The plumed hat sank to the
collar of her great cloak, the shoul-
ders stooped, the back bent under and
she slouched along, heartbroken.

Never in the history of Three Pines
had it been so cold. The mountain
peaks stood out frozen and white and
the garish snow flooded them all with
double emphasis.

She reached tlie small gate that was
her own. There she stopped, for in
the snow, huddled, fallen, was a dark
bundle. In an instant she was on her
knees and saw it was a human form.
She glanced at the face — the finely
turned mouth and chin — the beautiful
curve of the check — the innocence.

"I knew — " she said, "I kind o' felt
it. Idaho Mack has been away all af-
ternoon."

She took a flask from her pocket
and held it to the girl's lips, holding
her all the time as she would her own
child. And somehow it soothed her so
to hold her — this beautiful creature
in the world not of her own world.

"Why — oh, I am so cold — I — oh,
where — "

"Right here all right — I've got you.
Just another sip of this brandy, dearie
—that's all right."

She helped her up, then wrapped
her rich, warm cloak around the shiv-
ering form.

"I ran away," the girl began, hys-
terically. "I was at Silver Lodge, you
know, and so happy until this after-
noon. But it was a mistake — for an
awful man came while he — you know
— was away — and he had my picture
and letters — I had come here to marry
him, he said — and he was going to
take me away. But it is not that — he
— he — will despise me now — he can-
not love me — and when the horrid
man tried — O, I flew, and I have been
so cold — your light — "

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The woman still held her wrapped
warmly.

"I understand, dearie. Now don*t
bother. I'll take care of you — you're
safe. You'd have died here.''

"I thouglit I had — 1 wish I had. O,
I do not care to live since he — do you
— do you think he really cared for
me?"

"ril just bet my socks he did,"
cried the Countess in a reckless dash
of honest enthusiasm — "if he don't,
he's a wooden Indian or a hog! I
know him — he's a friend of mine and
calls me madam and lifts his hat. You
bet he's up to any skin game that
kyote— "

*'Oh — oh," gasped the girl, startled
and pulling away — "who — w^ho — are
you?"

"Me, child?" she laughed bitterly —
throwing back her head, "I'm the
Countess of Monte Faro, an' that's
my castle we're going to. Come on
now — you're cold — come dearie — I'll
take care of you and send you to your
friends."

The girl hesitated and looked at her
queerly, but the woman half carried,
half drew her along.

There were songs and loud laughter
from the parlor. The Countess' face
grew pale with shame as she called:

**Lady Clara, — here — help me!"

A woman in a gorgeous silken ki-
mona came out.

"This is Lady Clara de Vere, dear-
ie. Lady Clara, take her quickly — to
my room — through the side hall —
quick !'*

But the woman was not quick
enough. A man came out in the hall.

"O, Countess — so glad to see you
again — Lord, what a peach !"

The Countess drew herself up:

"The Duke of Clarence, dearie,"
she said apologetically — "drunk and
wants to marry me — always does
when he's drunk. In there, Lady
Clara, take her in there!" and she
closed the door of her room on the
two women and turned facing the
man, with a strange, mad light in her
eye.

"Say, Countess, I never saw you

look more like th^ real thing — oh, an*

that peach! — "

He jumped back frightened, nor
could he tell which shone the brighter,
the light in her eyes or the gleam of
a pearl-handled pistol pointed at his
head.

"Git!"

"Mv God, Countess!"

"Git— an' git fast."

"Lord, certainly — what do you
mean?"

He was ashen, for he suddenly re-
membered that he had been one of
the pall -bearers when they buried the
Spaniard.

"This is my castle now — and it
holds a jewel — so move."

He put on his coat and hat, but the
[)istol made him nervous, still pointed
at his head.

"Be sensible, Countess — point it
down a little," he said as he backed
out — "it might go off. I didn't know
she was your daughter."

The woman did not reply nor did
she lower the weapon. As she opened
the door for him she said, queerly:

"Now you be sure to tell 'em — all
of 'em — that henceforth this is my
castle — the Countess' castle. Tell 'em,
the men below, that they have made a
law for themselves — that a man may
protect his castle with his life. Ain't
a w^oman's soul more than a man's
castle, hey ? An' say, you tell 'em that
if any of 'em come up here agfin,
they'd better holler first at the gate or
they may get a shower o' melted lead
from the parapets. Do you ketch on
Jimmy, my dear?"

"I'm landed, Lady Marmion, yo'
highness," he said backing down the
steps, "an' you bet I'll tell the boys
so none of 'em'll try to come up before
the moat is full an' the scalin' ladders
is up. So — so — Countess!"

It was Christmas morning, and the
sun shone in the garish glare of snow,
and the intense atmosphere of the
mountains, with a dazzling glory bom
of the day. It streamed in slanting
rays through the Countess' blinds.

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CHRISTMAS AT THREE PINES

281

through lace curtains and over pat-
terns of gaudy Brussels.

The Countess peeped into the room
early and often, at the girl sleeping
soundly in the luxurious bed in the
corner — she could not stay away. The
woman's face wore a strange, happy
smile. In her soul was the loftiness
of motherhood, in that one was now
under her care whom she loved to
think was as her own child. She
wanted to see the pretty sight — to feel
the motherhood of Christmas again
when the girl awoke.

"You just ought to feel like I feel,
Lady Clara — that little thing over
there — she done it all — she an' him
that called me madam. Look at the
innocent little thing. If I could only
keep her here !"

There was much slipping and glid-
ing about by the Countess and Lady
Clara and manv sly glances of moth-
erly solicit^: !j toward the big bed,
and many extravagant whispers as to
the beauty and simple faith of the di-
vine creature who, believing the word
of the Countess, had gone to bed with
a happiness that was almost hysteri-
cal, coming as a reflex to the bitter
awakening of that day.

They Iiad soothed and petted her —
they themselves would take her back
to Virginia the next day. And then
they had had such a Christmas night,
—such carols by their guest, on the
Countess' grand piano — the first time
it had ever been touched by the hand
of a real artist. For the Countess had
bought it as she had bought every-
thing else around her — not for cause
but for effect.

And after the girl had said her
Christmas prayers, for herself and for
them, there fell upon these fallen
women a sweetness that brought
tears. And the girl had kissed them
and slept. After she was asleep, the
Countess, who could not sleep for
happiness, had peeped in again and
then she came away to Lady Clara
flushed, laughing, excited :

"Come, Lady Clara — my goodness,
I've got the boss plan! Let's* hang
up the little one's stocking!"

They slipped noiselessly in and
Lady Clara tittered and the two stood
gi§^gli"g a"<^ punching each other. It
was all so strange and sweet, and the
joy of it went through them until
somehow they found themselves each
alone and on her knees and praying,
and with it came the smell of the holly
of long ago.

Then they filled the stocking, and
such presents ! Gold, a handful in the
toe of it — laces that a princess might
have owned and many rare things
she had found to buy, such as a wom-
an with more money than morals fan-
cied. And filling the top, overrun-
ning until it fell in rainbow splendor
to the floor itself, was the rare opal
necklace the Spaniard had given her,
opal after o])al, strung on a golden
thread and between the opals, beads
of purest diamonds — a necklace
which, it had been said, the grand
dames of Spain had worn for half a
thousand years.

And now, in the morning, with her
heart still full of it all, she kept peep-
ing in to see if the girl had awakened,
for she wanted to see her when she
spied the necklace and she wanted to
hear her carols again.

The awakening was diflferent from
what she had hoped, however, for
suddenly the front door was broken
in with an oath and a crash and when
she ran to the front hall, there stood
Idaho Mack, in the ravings of a
Christmas drunk, with a cruel light
in his eyes. He looked at her savagely
as she stood before the door to her
room.

"You posin' she-devil — she's mine
an' I'm goin' to have her" — and he
came at her, drawing his knife from
his belt. Then all the sweetness w^ent
out of the woman's face, and as she
stood breathless and terribly white,
her hand slipped into her bosom and
something flashed into Idaho Mack's
face, — so close and hot that the pow-
der grains went wnth the ball into his
brain and he went down into the
Great Darkness in a limp heap at her
feet. Then the spirit of hell seemed
to go into her — so terribly cool and

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with such cruel exultant joy she did
it, — daintily lifting her skirts and
thrusting out a slippered foot, with
the toe of it she turned the dead face
up full to the light — gloatingly — while
his last breath went shivering out into
thin air. Then she threw a hand-
some rug over the dead form lying in
the hall, and turned to Lady Clara,
who stood there in pale numbness :

"The law of man is a life for a life,
but the law of woman is a soul for
a soul."

Then she opened the door of her
room to find the girl sitting up, fright-
ened.

"Good morning, dearie. Did you
hear the giant cracker we fired off to
celebrate your Christmas morning.'*
Look!" and smilingly she pointed to
the stocking.

"O Countess — Countess," she cried,
and sprang from the bed, pulling out
the pretty things as a child would —
"not — O not for me 1" But the Coun-
tess only laughed hysterically and
flung the necklace of opals and dia-
monds over her shoulders, where it
gilded her down-falling hair as the
red stars of the West at deep twilight
around the peaks of the Magellan.

Later, when the two women had
dressed her as if they had been her
handmaidens and she a queen, there
came the sound of galloping horses,
crunching through the snow. He

came in, a bitter pallor in his face and
a terribly stern glance for the woman
who met him at the door. Nor did the
sight of the girl who came to him
with outstretched hands of forgive-
ness move him, until the woman said :

"I found her senseless in the snow,
and as pure as the snow I give her
back to you. I have taken the soul of
a man to save the soul of a woman — "
and she pointed to the form beneath
the rugs.

Then he folded the girl, sobbing,
to his breast, saying: "It is all right,
little one, — and I have loved you from
the first, only I must wait for your
father, who will be here to-day and
will take yoU to your home."

But she clung to him close — sob-
bing:

"Oh, no — not unless you go — ^no —
no — for I know you love me now. I
understand it all."

He put her on her saddle horse —
he and the gallant surgeon, and when
she had kissed the two women for the
last time and was off, they stood
watching her with longing eyes, weep-
ing and all broken up.

"I am going, too," said the Coun-
tess, "me and Lady Clara — ^back to
the Christmas of our better selves —
back to the sweetness again."

And they closed the door of the
house of shame and locked and left
it forever — left it with the dead man
who had been its architect and maker.

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on Scollard

Hear the Christmas song ascend,-

Te Deum LaudamusI
Souls in adoration bend;
(Glory 1 glory with
Guard us! Be oui

Te Deum Lauda)

Up the transept, dc
Te Deum Laudai
Hark to the exulta
Buoying us above
Thou wilt sanctify
, Te Deum Lauda\

When the bass an(

Te Deum Laudai
To our thralled ?a
Rapture^s apotheosi
Lift us to celestial

Te Deum Lauda\

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LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH

Photo by Thus8 r. a. BARR, JR.

Nashville

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LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH 285

CYNTHIA ANN HANDLY,
Harrlman, Tennesseo

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286 THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

Photo by Turner, Nashville MARY ELLA HARRIS

Tuscaloosa, Alabama

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LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH 287

LANSING BURROWS MAYS,
THomasYllle, Georgia

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28S THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

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LITTLE CITIZENS OF THE SOUTH 289

ISABEL BUKBRIDGE WELLS,
Warren, Arkansas

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Photo by Brinkley

GEORGIA A. WINSTON,
Oxford, North Carolina

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THE ACTING CHAIRMAN

By Marie Bankhead Owen

— 5^

'^:^,^ VERY member of the
.<v.\>*^ House was in his
seat when the chap-
lain oflFered prayer,
except the veteran
who was diumally
tardy, thereby win-
ning the sobriquet of
"the late Mr.
Dobbs." Every man
was on the qui vive
except the small coterie composing
the speaker's confidential advisers.
The reason was self-evident. The
committee assignments were to be an-
nounced.

Dave Mehan's name was read sec-
ond on the Committee on Taxation
and Special Exemptions. Dave had
confidently expected the chairman-
ship, but he hid his chagrin behind a
roomy Irish smile and extended his
right hand with frank cordiality to
the successful appointee to the covet-
ed chairmanship.

The young member from Barbee
had some neat work planned out on
his legislative slate, and there were
others, too, who were interested —
men in the corridors, men in the bal-
cony overlooking the House, men sit-
ting in their offices a mile down town,
their telephone connections made with
the 'phone of the Committee room of
Taxation and Special Exemptions,
ready for the Secretary to report the
list the very first instant their subsi-
dized page could flit from the House
after the names dropped from the
reading clerk's lips.

"That's a good committee, Mr.
Smith." This from Dave to his suc-
cessful opponent, a nod from his
3

airly red head giving emphasis to
his oral approval. "Hot stuff!"

"If you mean it's hell, yes!" This
unambiguous remark was made sotto
voce over Dave's left shoulder by an
ex-member who had the privilege of
the floor for the day by request of
"the gentleman from Barbee," Barbee
being Dave's county, of course.

"Good!" laughed Dave, who was
the incarnation of the type all things
to all men, "good!" This second en-
dorsement came chucklingly as the
two pals walked together to the rear
of the hall.

"If I'd been Middleton," (Middle-
ton was the implacable, incorruptible,
reticent speaker of the House) "I'd
have put Smith of York about third
on the committee on Ventilation and
Acoustics where he would have been
out of the way of progress. Let's see
— name 'em over again."

Dave took from his pocket an old
envelope upon which he had penciled
the committee as it was read out :

"Smith of York, Mehan of Barbee,
Jordan of Hoke, Gunby of Estill, Fre-
mont of Jackson, Morrow of Qay,
Sternberg of Floyd."

"By God, if they ain't a mangy
bunch for boodlers to handle ! They'll
break us, Dave. There ain't a blamed
one in the lot that'll cost us less than
five thousand dollars. They are all
gentlemen !"

Dave's keen gray eyes rested re-
flectively a moment on those of his
companion, and then with the con-
tempt of familiarity, he said:

"I didn't know you were such a
mutton-headed chump, Nick. I've al-
ways understood that you got your
start — ^and it's a good one by now, I
happen to know — right here in this

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House. But you are still a regular
tenderfoot."

"Well, what do you calculate it will
come to? Fm the treasurer of the
lobby committee for our boys, and Td
like to be given an idea, so I can lay
out the assessments before the month-
ly accounts are closed."

"I agree with you that if we had
to lay down the money it would about
average your estimate, but let's see
— ^what did you boys send me up here
for, anyway — fresh air?" Dave led
the way and Nicholas Williamson fol-
lowed him into one of the little cup-
boards in the off comers of the House
designed for cloakrooms, and used
also by gentlemen addicted to the
soothing weed and the moist extract
of com and rye. Once within the nar-
row door that had for half a century
closeted groups of cronies bent on in-
trigue, pungent anecdotes, or ham-
merfests, Dave and Nick settled down
to business.

"Now you fellows made the
straight deal with me, didn't you?"
asked Dave. "I was to get on this
committee, to ask for nothing else and
to get your industries exempted at all
costs. I believe I'm quoting the
spokesman of the stockholders cor-
rectly. Well, here I've sat for two
long weeks, my native wit in cold
lorage, my Irish dander up to boiling
heat half a dozen times, my palms
fairly bruised with my clinched fists,
and all because I am a man of honor.
I keep my word. I promised to make
no enemies, to pacify all opposing
factions, to do my very level best to
ingratiate myself with the new speak-
er and his pals, and to hold my fiery
tongue in due season. I've done all
these things to the queen's taste, bc-
gorry, and landed where? Second
only!" Dave's pride was pinched;

"Never mind, old boy, all is not
lost. There are exigencies that arise
in legislative life we wot not of until
they are upon us. Be on the alert,
and I am confident that you will land
us. Sit steady in the boat and pull
for the shore!" These reassuring
words uplifted Dave's mercurial heart

"Put her there!" he cried fratemaL
ly, as he held out his hand. Together
they settled down over the list

"Smith of York," began Nick,
"what of him?"

"Ambition!" cried Dave, as he
slapped his thigh vigorously, "ambi-
tion ! We'll handle him for guberna-
torial timber. There is where his
heart turns. Smith's vain, too, and as
credulous as all vain men are. Ill
give him something like this."

Dave, with fine mimicry of his own
best manner and Smith's peculiari-
ties of pose and facial expression,
went through an incisive, imaginary
dialogue that fairly choked his audi-
tor with laughter and that at the same
time appealed to his judgment be-
cause of the plausibility of its logic
and its sequence.

"Yes, ambition is Smith's vulnera-
ble heel. Put an arrow after Smith,"
added the young member soberly.

"Jordan of Hoke," read Nick next

"Oh, that won't be so difficult cith-
er. Jordan is a cousin or step-cousin
or something to that cotton Moses
from over in Georgia, and he's all for
the proposed regulation by the state
of cotton exchanges. Introduced a
bill first day to abolish them entirely,
I think. I'll trade my influence on be-
half of his pet when it gets on the
floor, if he'll stand by me in commit-
tee on mine. You see I'm instructed
against bucket shops, any way, and
so it's all right to trade with Jordan.
Have another cigar. I wonder where
that black rascal that cleans up in here
has put the liquids. Oh, here they
are under the prohibitionist's hat
Some scamp's joke, I reckon." As
the remaining half bottle of Pickett's
Old Mill gurgled into a cloudy glass
that reposed by the age-worn water
cooler, the two men smiled genially
and propMOsed broad toasts that were
entirely irrelevant to the subject in
hand. Wiping their mouths and clear-
ing their stung throats, they settled
back to the list.

"Gunby of Estill!"

As Nick pronounced the name
Dave broke into a merry laugh.

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293

"Gunby will cost us about one thou-
sand dollars, and once in hand, he'll
shoot any man we pick out He is
cold, avaricious, ignorant, with the
self-complacency of ignorance, one-
idead and loyal. You know the t3rpe.
He sits over on the left of old Sors-
by of Colt, all nose — doesn't hear
well, wears a sky-blue tie and a pink
artificial carnation. He is a filler on
the committee, but his vote is as good
as Smith's. He's a cold, hard, materi-
alist that calls for dough. Put him
down at one thousand limit A thou-
sand dollars will be wealth untold to
him. He rooms in a second-class
boarding house down on GofiF street
and eats at a hot Charlie and a free
lunch stand. Small potatoes and few
to the hill. Check him oflf — ^at one
thousand."

"Fremont of Jackson." Nick's tones
were honeyed and he stroked his black
mustache aflfectionately. A contented
smile played over his agreeable fea-
tures. He saw money in his own
pocket out of what Dave was saving
the boys.

"Fremont," mused Dave. "Well,
Fremont is looking longingly towards
the goddess of liberty on the Capitol
dome in Washington."
"Congress?"
"Nope— Senate."
"What will it cost us?"
"That is contingent on the pres-
sure we can bring to bear on the Gov-
ernor. The job will be appointive,
you know, dependent entirely on the
threatened retirement of Senator
Spaulding."

"Not if he retires before the legis-
lature adjourns."

"Of course not, but he won't do
that because he knows General Mc-
Sawyer will be elected, and there is
an old feud between them. It will be
put up to the Governor. Now it
grows complicated here. You'll have
to follow me closely. The Governor
has only two years in the chair. He
doesn't desire the honor again, but
he does aspire to the woolsack. He
wants to be Chief Justice." Dave
looked oracular.

"Well?" This from Nick with di-
lated nostrils scenting war afar oS.

"You've got it, have you, that the
Governor wants to be Chief Justice?"

"Yepl It's here," thumping his
black head.

"Well! He isn't unmindful of the
leveling influence of a good leader in
some of the big counties. If I'm not
mistaken, Stokes of Yancey is the big-
gest man in the eastern half of the
state. We'll get him to work on Fre-
mont with the understanding that the
Governor will appoint him, Fremont,
to Spaulding's prospective vacancy in
the U. S. Senate, if he votes with us.
Stokes of Yancy will help the Gov-
ernor in his fight for the Chief Jus-
tice's place the coming campaign if
the Governor will appoint Fremont"

"Yes, that's clear to me, but what
does Stokes of Yancy get out of it?"

"Somewhere in the neighborhood
of fifteen thousand. That comes out
of the corruption fund. Buddy, the
one you're totin' around in your
jeans."

"Dave, you will be president some
day."

"Of a life insurance company?
Yes, I'm inclined to think my methods
do incline in that direction."

Mutual enthusiasm demanded more
drinks. They discovered an unopened
bottle beneath the head-rest of the
lounge, and Dave proceeded to open
it with the corkscrew that filled up
the back half of his pocket knife.
In due season they got down once
more to their list.

"Morrow of Qay," read the ex-
legislator, as he sent the smoke of a
fresh cigar curling, ring through ring,
to the ceiling

"Morrow is an osteopath. Had
rheumatism last year, and got his leg
pulled."

"Literally or figuratively?"

"Oh, both I reckon. Anyhow, he's
got a bill up to license the osteopaths
to practice in this state without hav-
ing to pass examinations on medicine,
which they don't use. Of course they-
're looking for votes."

"Yes, and so will you be looking

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for them your next race if you get
the medicos against you."

"Oh, don't bother about that. The
chairman of the Committee on Public
Health is too keen to let the bill get
off the calendar. I can safely swap
pledges with Morrow. Besides, a fel-
low can always get a call from the
lobby if he wants to dodge a vote.
Fve seen many a man get lost at the
other fellow's psychological moment."

"Sternberg of Floyd."

Dave ran his fingers through his
hair until it stood up straight for all
the world like Sternberg's.

"Sternberg takes his position very
seriously, (^rman conscience. Near-
ly as bad as a New England one —
damnably uncomfortable for all par-
ties." Dave pursed up his lips medi-
tatively. There was a long silence in
the little, smelly, smoky cupboard of
a room.

"No way to manage him except
to hold our meetings when he is out
of town or unless we can get him
bamboozled with a few extra *hochs'
to the Kaiser."

The last name on the list was
checked oflf.

"My, my, but that does clear the at-
mosphere some!" exclaimed Nick as
he stretched his legs and soused his
hands deep into his pockets.

"Yes, someT replied his genial
friend as they passed back into the
House with tfie benign countenances
of men fresh from a prayer meeting.

To plan a campaign of conduct in
legislative matters is one thing, to
execute it, another. There are so
many Scyllas one is liable to run into
in avoiding Charybdis. The commit-
tee on Taxation and Special Exemp-
tions had had many meetings and
much ground had been covered, but
the interests over which Dave Mehan
was patron saint had not been reached.
His maneuvers were necessarily cau-
tious. There was the public of his
constituency — ^Dave aspired to the
Senate next time — ^the law regulating

. bribery, the anti-lobby law, the shift-
ing of affiliations as members' inter-
ests converged or diverged, his pledg-
es to the manufacturers whose contri-
butions enabled him to make a win-
ning fight for his seat, his. struggles
with himself to keep out of legislative
squabbles of debate in which he saw
unrecallable opportunities for oratori-
cal fame slip from his grasp, and in
which his young vanity strove with
his prudence for an outlet of sarcasm
and humor and logic that he knew
would carry the House with him on
those matters that really touched his
human feelings. But alas for Dave!
He sat mute and diplomatic, standing,
in the minds of his legislative col-
leagues, for nothing but a glad hand.
When measures were up tihat would
compromise his friendly relations with
the several members of the Special
Exemption Committee or their friends,
even, he had to hike to the lobby at
roll call or sit as silent as a turnip.
Days and weeks passed. Every group
of special interests had had its inning
except those under the protecting
guidance of the gentleman from Bar-
bee. The last legislative week was
upon them. Dave met Mr. Nicholas
Williamson in the lobby.

"Do you know that to-morrow is
the last day you've got to get our bill
out of Committee? Dave, you've
played thunder waiting for an 'aus-
picious moment' "

Dave flared. "See here, Nick, I've
done the best I could according to my
judgment. Here you are all swelled
up like a pizened pup, because I have-
n't done the impossible for a bunch
of skin-game robbers. How could I
compel Smith to call up our crowd?
I've done my durndest I"

Poor Davel He was almost con-
scientious and besides he was grow-
ing testy under a realization that he
was apt to have to face his exploiters
under the charge of flunk.

At this moment the House ad-
journed and the members slowly de-
bouched through the wide door into
the rotunda. A telegraph messenger
handed a yellow envdope to Mr.

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295

Smith of York, and Dave heard his
Chairman tell his neighbor that he
was called home by the illness of his
wife, and giving him some hasty mes-
sages to the speaker about certain
bills on the calendar that must not be
reached before he got back. He
would proceed at once to call a meet-
ing of the committee on Taxation and
Special Exemptions.

Fairly beaming on Nick who was
still standing at his elbow, he said,
triumphantly :

"I think 'the hour and the man have
met' once more in history. Just watch
me. It's acting Chairman, I am,
Nicky, old boy. Don't lose sight of
me for a minute. Just watch me hus-
tle! Say, Mr. Haywood, Ha)rwood,
don't you room with Gunby of Es-
till?"

"Yep," replied Haywood, as he
pridefully gathered his copious red
whiskers into the fond grasp of his
big hairy hand, and stood blocking
the way of the other departing mem-
bers, who not too politely shoved by
or impatiently stood waiting as hun-
ger or manners prompted.

"Well, you just tell Gunby for me
that there is to be a meeting to-night
of the Committee on Special Exemp-
tions and that I'm to be acting Chair-
man. Mr. Smith has just left for the
train, called home by sickness in his
family. At seven-thirty we'll meet in
the private dining room of the Davis
Hotel. My treat"

"WeU, Mr. Mehan, I'm willin' t'
'blege ye 'bout givin' th' word t' Gun,
but Tx^ut two o'clock I left him fast-
ened on t' one eend of er link sau-
sage that 'uz 'bout er yard long. Ef
he ain't swallered hit all, maybe I kin
cut him erloose with this old jack-
knife. I'll try t* enjuce him t' meet
you'uns at the p'int set."

"Oh, say there, Jordan ! Mr. Wash-
by, please stop Jordan for me — ^he is
talkmg with his committee secretary
over there behind you! Yes, oh, —
Mr. Jordan. Oh, say, Mr. Jordan,
it's very important to have a brief
meeting of the Committee on Special
Exemptions to-night. Can't you — "

"Awfully sorry, Mehan," broke in
Jordan, "but I'm down to it with some
fellows of tfie Cotton Association to-
night—"

"Oh, but we're obliged to have you.
I'm going to save time by having the
meeting while we eat our supper. The
treat's on me — private dining room of
the Davis — seven-thirty. Can't you
come? You know, old man, I had
my senator stand up by your bill on
the other side," jerking his thimib
toward the upper brandi, "and you
said I could call you when it came
my turn."

Dave's smile was glowing, irresisti-
ble, and his strong white hand was on
his companion's shoulder insistently,
his deep voice was mellow and vibrant
with good fellowship.

"Thaf s so. Well, if you'll let me
oflf at eight-thirty sharp I'll be with
you."

"All right, I'm Acting Chairman
this deal, and so I'm kind o' celebrat-
ing, you see. So long!"

Jordan was a sucked orange for
present purposes, and Fremont, Mor-
row and Sternberg were each in turn
button-holed as they passed into the
outer corridor. Fremont had a box-
party on, but could arrange over the
'phone to join his friends at the thea-
ter. Morrow had some country con-
stituents on his hands, but thought he
could plan a seance for them at the
moving picture show under the chap-
eronage of his stenographer. How-
ever, at nine he had to meet with the
Judiciary Committee and must leave
Dave's supper by eight-forty-five
sharp.

Sternberg was obliged to be back
at the capitol by nine as the Govern-
or had set that hour to go over the
new Immigration Bill with him.
Sternberg possessed a foreign, for-
mal dignity, and felt tremendously
touched by an Executive recognition.
He could not rid himself of the flunky-
ism due the representative of power.
He had also the foreigner's objec-
tionable habit of a reserved opinion.
He thought, subconsciously of course,
that the Governor might be turning

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him over in mind for the post of com-
missioner. This would be g^eat news
to write home to the old mother in
the fatherland. Not for his right arm
would he have been tardy a shade of
a second at this executive audience.

Dave hurried down the avenue to
his hotel and made all arrangements
for the supper and the meeting. The
one thing, however, that disturbed
him — ^and indeed it was a tremendous
handicap to the possible fruition of
his hopes — was the sad lack of time.
What could be done in one hour? It
was now or never, but how could in-
terests representing millions be dis-
posed of in such a little while? He
stuck his finger in his vest pocket for
his watch. // was gone!

"Back up to the third floor," he
said excitedly to the elevator boy.
Alighting, he followed the retreating
form of the slender, middle-aged man
who had alighted from the little cage
of the lift a moment before.

"That's my man," Dave muttered,
as he slipped his hand towards his
hip pocket and fingered the cold little
gun that reposed there.

The retreating figure before him
turned a corner and closed the door
of room 320 behind him. The large
brass key-plate dangled on the out-
side. Dave softly turned the key, and
placing his foot on the door-knob,
pulled his body up by holding the
door- facing until he could see through
the transom. The light-fingered gen-
tleman was making a close, critical,
technical, analytical inspection of
Dave's watch.

"Drop it!"

The voice came down on the thief
with the sudden surprise of lightning
out of a clear sky. Lifting his eyes
quickly, he flinched before Dave's
cocked gun.

"Now, move a muscle and I'll lay
you out in your tracks." Dave spoke
rapidly but Jenkins looked down at
his feet with a slow g^in.

"They are some size, sir, but I don't
believe they will hold my full height."

"I suppose you realize the preca-
riousness of your situation?"

"I seem to be up against it, but I'll
not do the baby act Come and get
me." Jenkins' defiant bravado went
for courage.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Sure! You're the Governor. I
owe my information to your hand-
some newspaper cuts." This resem-
blance, not between the men, but of
Dave to the Governor's newspaper
picture, had frequently been noted by
his acquaintances. "I've been wait-
ing about the lobby a couple of even-
ings waiting for you. 'A millionaire
Governor ought to carry some valua-
ble portable property around with
him,' says I to myself, 'but since in-
specting the goods I'm so ashamed of
my lack of discrimination that I want
to hide my mortification behind the
jail door. Come on in and take me.
It isn't every grafter that has the
honor to be pulled by a Governor —
that's some compensation. Even a
thief has his vanities."

The human nature of the fellow
touched Dave's responsive heart, but
he realized that time was precious.

"Pass me over your gun and be
careful of your gestures in the action.
I'm liable to slip a trigger up here if I
get excited. Butt foremost, please.
Now, got any more? One at a time;
thanks. Any other weapons?"

"These." A pair of brass knucks
followed the pistols.

Jenkins heard the key turn and in
another instant he faced his captor
behind the dosed door.

"Very neat 1" said the thief approv-
ingly.

"You're a likable sort of fellow,"
said Dave heartily, "barring your ac-
quisitional accomplishments."

"Yes, *a scion of one of the best
families,' " quoted the culprit nimbly,
"but alas, I'm sadly afflicted — I'm a
kleptomaniac !" His acting was fault-
less — eyes uplifted, hands wrung in
simulated distress, voice a-quiver.
Both men burst into laughter after an
instant's pause.

Dave looked serious in another mo-
ment : "Do you know, my friend, I'm
greatly tempted — '"

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THE ACTING CHAIRMAN

297

**To let me go? Oh, my dear, good
Governor, do, do forgive me this one
slight indiscretion. Remember my
youth, my aged mother; remember
my poignant pain!" He was point-
ing towards Dave's cheap watch and
wore every expression of real an-
guish.

An idea had quickly flashed through
his captor's brain.

"Say, er— Mr.— "

"Jenkins, at your service, Phil Jen-
kins, known in Rogues' Gallery as
'Philadelphia Jinks.'" The thief
seemed willing to ease his captor's
mind on every point.

"Well, er — Mr. Jenkins, I'm very
much inclined to let you off this time
as it's your first offense — ^against me
— but as one good turn deserves an-
other, I'd like to engage your services
to assist me in playing a little practi-
cal joke on a few intimate friends
who are dining with me to-night. We
are to have the private dining-room,
number seven, on the second floor,
and I think it would be jolly to give
'em a little jolt, er — say to relieve
them of their watches as they arrive,
just a dinner stunt, you see."

Jenkins looked comprehending and
approving.

"Then when the cigars come the
watches can be brought on a waiter —
by Jove! I'll get a half dozen white
satin boxes from the jewelry store
down stairs — ^they'll be dandy souve-
nirs, eh? And you'll do your part,
won't you?"

"Why, certainly, your Excellency,
I'm your humble servant in all things.
You have but to command me, and — "

"Well, you just come on down with
me," interposed Dave. "It's about
seven-fifteen now, I judge."

"Seven-twelve-thir^ !" said Jen-
kins, as he inspected the beautiful
gold watch that hung at the other end
of his handsome fob.

"We will repair to the banquet
hall," said the host with suitably pom-
pous intonations "Before we leave
the treaty chamber I think I ought to
require a pledge from you that you
will ghre me a square deal."

"What oath do you want, Your
Honor?" Jenkins was much more ac-
customed to the phrase "Your Hon-
or" than "Your Excellency." It rolled
out of his mouth by force of habit.
"What do you deem most sacred?"
"Well, I am a Quaker and opposed
to taking oaths, but some years ago
I lost a little daughter. I'll swear by
my hopes of meeting that child in a
better world that I'll give you a square
deal." Jenkins' imaginary offspring
was in tfie class of children that Ra-
chel mourned for, but Philadelphia
Jinks' pathetic sigh so perfectly sim-
ulated the real article that Dave's big
Irish heart throbbed s)mipathetically
as he took the rascal's outstretched
hand.

Ill

The acting Chairman rapped vig-
orously on the table :

"The Committee on Taxation and
Special Exemptions will please come
to order. The Secretary will read the
minutes of the last meeting."

"I move that the minutes of that
thar meetin' be dispersed with," said
Gunby, his mouth full of half-done
beefsteak.

"I second the motion," said Stem-
berg, his hair bristling with anxiety
lest he should be late at the execu-
tive appointment.

The waiter poured more wine
around, and the business in hand went
forward as fast as Sternberg's con-
science and Jordan's amiable, ambling,
colorless anecdotes would allow. To
Dave, the time seemed flying as fast
as his warm blood coursed through
his hot brain. Morrow's queries
seemed superfluous, and the statisti-
cal answers interminable. Fremont's
interpolations were asinine, he
thought, and time was flying. Direct-
ly some fool of them would ask for
the time, and — he had had to make
his plans so quickly that they were
very immature. He realized that in
a moment of temporary sanity. What
shape would affairs take when they
discovered their missing timepieces?
He was fairly flabbergasted with anx-

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lety, and by the slow-moving wheels
of committee deliberation. There were
six members present. It would re-
quire four ayes to carry his business
through. Doubts had displayed them-
selves in the minds of Sternberg and
Morrow, doubts that were based on
conscience, as to whether or not the
interests under discussion should be
exempt from the taxations and other
legal strictures possible to be laid on
them by the legislature. Dave's head
fairly whirled. "Time, time, time!"
beat his blood through his brain. At
last it came! Sternberg arose and
popped his heels together and bowed
from his waist forward, a clean-cut,
half-and-half, continental bow. He re-
gretted to withdraw himself, but he
feared that he must go. He had left
his watch at his hotel, he supposed.
Would Mr. Mehan give him the time ?

Dave's watch stood at seven-twen-
ty, right where Jenkins had left it
standing when he went into the works,
but Dave's vision was so blurred by
excitement that he thought he read
eight-twenty.

Dave's business had been so expe-
dited that it could well end where it
stood. He gave a signal to Gunby,
who called for the question. Dave's
blood seemed suddenly to chill and
stagnate all in his head, but he man-
aged to say:

"Wait a minute, Mr. Sternberg, I
have a little souvenir of the occasion
for you all. Sam, the souvenirs !"

The black waiter handed the host
a silver salver upon which reposed six
white satin cases.

"Now, gentlemen, don't open your
cases please until all are provided. As
your name is called, take one. If you
don't like your selection, swap with
your neighbor or whoever will swap
with you. Proceed with the roll, Mr.
Secretary." Dave gave a flourishing
gesture. Whatever catastrophe might
follow, he was nearing the end of his
service as a special corporation agent.
Somewhat of his old-time indepen-
dence was near at hand.

Men are but big boys, after all.
The wine, the hospitable occasion, the

winning qualities of the young legis-
lator who sat at the head of the table,
both as host and Acting Chairman,
the very comradery of the hour
warmed their hearts. Surely Dave's
patron saint was smiling on him in
this the climax of his maiden career
in practical politics.

"Mr. Smith."

"Absent," answered the Acting
Chairman with humorous satisfaction.
His guests all laughed genially in
sympathetic concert.

"Mr. Mehan."

"Aye."

"Mr. Jordan."

"Aye." (This with conscientious
reluctance, but with sufficient audibili-
ty to warrant the Secretary in enroll-
ing the second affirmative vote.)

"Mr. Gunby."

"Aye," answered the gentleman
from Estill, his mouth full of salted
almonds.

"Mr. Fremont."

"Aye."

Dave's grin was expansive. He had
his majority. The devil could take
the leavings.

"Mr. Sternberg."

"I would like to explain my vote — "
the German-American began.

"No need for apologies, Mr. Stem-
berg. If you want to vote no, vote
no! I believe in a man's acting ac-
cording to his conscience, in the scorn
of consequence." Victory had moved
Dave to magnanimity.

The conscientious member made a
brief statement of the doubts he en-
tertained concerning the equity of
some points involved in the bill, but
its preponderant merits impelled him
to vote aye.

Applause.

Morrow's "Aye" made the vote
unanimous.

"Now!" said Gunby, indicating by
his example that the time had arrived
when they could scrutinize their sou-
venirs. As each man's eyes plunged
into his respective box, a whimsical,
discomfited smile overspread his face.
Instead of a watch, either his own or
his neighbor's and the dainty stick-

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THE ACTING CHAIRMAN

299

pin of old gold which Dave had sup-
plied, there reposed in the sheeny
folds of each satin case a hard beaten
biscuit and a lemon !

Dave, all unmindful of this contre-
temps, was busy reading a note dis-
covered by Sam on the waiter beneath
the boxes.

Though brief, it was explanatory:

"Dear Gov. :

"Pardon the liberty I take.

"Yours for the catching,

Dave's bright roses turned to ashes
on his cheeks. He, Dave Mehan, the
sagacious corporation agent, the as-
tute young politician from Barbee,
Dave a keen, penetrating son of old
Ireland, was deceived, gulled, played
by the thief like a foolish, credulous
infant! His friends — for had they
not to a man proved themselves his
true friends within the last fifteen
minutes? — his friends had been
robbed as it were, by his own insti-
gation. He could replace their watch-
es with new ones, but this would be a
sort of confession of complicity — ^be-
side, he knew that every man's watch
has associations and memories that
make it of inestimable value even if it
is only a Waterbury. Dave's con-
science, and pride lashed him like a
cat-o-nine-tails. He was upon the
very eve of elaborate apologies, apolo-
gies that might end in a confession
for all his impetuous heart could
vouchsafe, when a rapping was heard
at the door. The Chief of Police stood
on the threshold, and fast to his wrist
was handcuffed Philadelphia Jinks.

"Have any of you gentlemen lost
your watches ?" the officer asked with
professional inquisitiveness.

Every legislator's hand went to his
pocket

"Yes, why, yes, yes," came a con-
cert of six voices, for even the secre-
tary had been touched.

"Do you think you could pick them
out of this collection?" The Chief
ordered an accompanying cop to pour
out his haul on the table.

Dave and Phil looked into each
other's eyes for a cool, level moment
and then the prisoner turned his face
away.

"It's up to me to explain that sou-
venir deal, I reckon. Governor."

The occupants of the room all
turned their eyes to the prisoner for
the story. Dave paled and gulped,
struggling for words with which to
stop the exposure of his culpability
in the matter.

"You see gentlemen, it's like this — "

Dave lifted his hand in unfeigned
distress. The gesture held pleading in
it. Words had not yet come to him,
and the prisoner's next sentence held
him dumb.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, that I felt
constrained to swap my biscuits for
yours, but after I took them and the
beautiful stick pins that ^ere in the
souvenir boxes, my sense of humor
overcame me. In the vernacular, I
felt impelled to hand you a lemon by
way of a little pleasantry. My pal has
the souvenirs and I hope you will re-
cover them, although I must advise
you that the chances are against you,
as he is the slickest ever. Since hav-
ing the pleasure of making your per-
sonal acquaintance in this rather un-
conventional manner, I beg to again
express my deep sorrow over your
irreparable losses on this auspicious
occasion. Wishing you many returns
of the day, I give you good morrow."
He bowed his graceful figure out of
the room, assisted by the chief's guid-
ing hand, giving Dave an understand-
ing wink accompanied by a whimsi-
cal grimace which said more potent-
ly than words:

"Deny if you can that there is hon-
or among thieves."

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NIGHTS WITH GHOSTS

III— THE MOVING PICTURE

By William Mac Donald Goodman

EAH come Shed,"
Uncle Adam re-
marked, as he took
a seat by the kitchen
fire. "Now, le's see
who airs gwine lis-
'en at a ha*nt tale dis
time. Dar Aun'
Marthy, dar little
Johnny, dar Shed,
en heah me — us fo*
en no mo'. Shed, how come you nos-
in' 'roun' atter dark?"

"I heah you got ha'nts gwine, en
I des stop in whar de light wuz," the
boy replied.

"ril be boun' dat dat's hittin' in de
neighborhoods er de trufe," said the
old darky. "Talk about bein' skeer'd
er ha'nts. Take a nigger lak Shed,
whut's des gittin' 'long whar he thinks
he's a man in de daylight, but whom
is doubtful whe'r he's five year ole er
no when night come on, en you is got
sump'n dat'll break his neck a-runnin'
f'um a white stump."

"Ef I see sump'n skeery-lookin' in
de dark, I try to see 'f I c'n make out
whut 'tis de nex' day," Shed ob-
served with a g^in.

"Dat's de solum gospel, en is des
whut I been a-sayin'. How you like
to hear 'bout a ginnywine ha'nt to-
night?"

"All right, ef any er you is a-gwine
my way home. Ef I got ter lis'en at a
ha'nt tale, I got ter have comp'ny
when I leaves heah."

"We all in de same fix," said Aunt
Martha, "so you nee'nter res' oneasy.
Go on wid de tale, Unk' Adam."
"Well, suh," he began, "dis heah

tale come dose to home. You alls is
heerd of Kunnel Malcom, whut live in
dat ole bat house over on de Burnt
Hick'ry road?"

"Dat's de fines'-lookin' ole house in
de country," Aunt Martha stated.

"Lookin' at it f'um de outside, wid
its big front po'ch en tall pillers, hit
do look fine," he said. "But I ain't
speakin' uv de outside. You wanter
go inside to feel like you mistook yo'-
se'f. It's dark en musty, en ev'ything
in dar look ole en wo'n. I didn' know
de place, but I knowed de Kunnel, en
when I happen 'long dar en he tell
me he want de cyarpet tuck up in de
parlor, I jump at de job. Don't know
whut he wanter move de c)rarpet fer.
Hit b'en dar sence time wuz, en I
don't see why it couldn't des ez well
'main dar. But he want it tuck up, he
say, en I got no business axin' ques-
tions, so I follers him in de house en
sets to work. De parlor in dat house
is a front room on de secon' flo'. Yes,
it is. Down stairs looks lak de lin-
germents uv some ole bam. It's mos*
gone to 'struction ev'ywhar 'cep' de
room whar de cyarpet wuz. De house
lak hits owner— done seed hits bes'
day. Well, suh, de Kunnel he lef me
in dar en I went to work. De cyarpet
dusty en musty. I tug ah sweat a-
while, en den I res' en look 'roun'.
On one side de room wuz a planner
whut take de premyer fer size. It had
legs 'bout lak dem on dis cheer, en
you could kiver de top wid dat biscuit
bo'd dar. It got brass en silver en pu'l
trimmin's do', en I spec' hit wuz
mighty fine in de time er Nora en de
ark. In de middle er de room wuz a

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301

table wid a big book on it en a tray
full uv cards what done turn yaller,
dey been dar so long. Den on tu'r
side de room was a picture uv a lady
^life size en so natchul dat I tuck
en jump when I fus' seed it Dar she
stood, wid her white skirt sorter pull
roun' wid one han', lookin' at me lak
she wuz a-bossin' uv de job. It made
me feel skittish, somehow er some
way, en I got busy ag'in en move on
'cross de flo'. I got to de yuther en'
er de room en work dar awhile, en
when I stop to res' ag^in I tuck un-
other peep at de po'trait, en Aun*
Marthy, ef it's de las' word I ever
speaks, de pictur' er det 'oman wuz
a-lookin' sp'ang at me de same ez it
done when I wuz on de t'ur side."

"Git out, Unk* Adam," she ex-
claimed.

"Hit's de trufe! En dat ain't all.
Ez soon ez I cotch my bre'f ag'in en
could muster de nerve, I 'sperimented.
I tuck a stroll down de room, all de
time lookin' at de picture, en bless
goodness, de eyes uv de thing foUered
me same's ef she wuz alive."

"En right den I'd er strolled out
er dat house en on home like er rab-
bit wid de houn's atter him," Shed
remarked.

"But dat ain't all yit," Uncle Adam
continued. "Ef dat picture *didn'
frown at me one time ez I pass th'oo
de room, I ain't here! Shed don't
know whut he talkin' 'bout. Dat cyar-
pet ain't tuck up )rit, I don't reckon.
I played oflf sick, en de Kunnel cuss
me out, en I lef dar."

"Shucks; dat ain't whut I calls a
ha'nt tale," said Shed. "I'd er th'owed
up dat job, but I wouldn't go oflf en
make er 'miration Iwut whut I
seed."

"You des hoi' on, young nigger,"
he demanded. "When I tells a tale
hit's a tale- You des wait 'twell I gits
th'oo wid it, en den ef it don't av'age
up wid yo' notions 'bout ghostes, den
you ain't got de sense I Siought you
had."

He seemed lost in thought for a few
moments, and then resumed:

"I ain't 'zackly got holt er all de

ins en outs er de commencemint er de
conclusions uv de thing, but I'll leave
all dat off. All I know is whut I
'member of whut Aun' Molly say she
rickerleck. I pass Aun' Molly's house
on my way home, en dis whut hap-
pen : I got dat picture on de brain, en
I hatter tell her how cu'ous hit wuz.
I tell her how come I in dat parlor, en
whut I see, en no sooner did I do dat,
dan dat ole Aferky 'oman commence
to laugh fit to kill herse'f. She sot dar
in de sun on de cabin step en des sway
f'lun side to side en giggle lak some
fool gal. She go on dat a- way awhile,
en den she 'low:

" " 'Oh, my, Adam ; you been walk
in on 'imi da da. Enty?*

"I ax whut I been walk in on, en
she laugh ag^in en 'low:

" 'She ha'nt fer true.'

"Well, de long en de short er de
matter is dat I sot right down dar by
de ole critter en heerd er ha'nt tale.
I ain't gwine try to tell it lak she tole
it, fer I ain't got no time to tangle my
tongue up wid her rice-plan'ashun
lingo. I know de tale, en I'll tell it
my way. It seem lak, f'um whut she
say, dat dat 'oman whut in de picture
wuz de Kunnel's mammy, en dat de
Runnel's pa he built dat house fer her
when she was a bride en she fix up
de parlor des lak it stan' to-day. She
fix up de parlor, en de husban' he
called in a fine painter en had her pic-
ture painted en hung up dar whar I
'skivered it. He built dat house en
she fix up de parlor, but it seem lak
her money wuz at de bottom er de
whole business. Dat what Aun' Molly
say, anyhow. But no matter 'bout dat
— <ley had de money, en dey live well.
Dey live well, dey did, en ev'ything
move on lak six en six, 'twell one sad
day de lady she up en died. She die,
she did, en de husban' grieve en mope
'roun' fer a long time, en den folks
commence fer to notice dat he begin
to spruce up en look young agin."

"Who de y'uther 'oman?" Aunt
Martha inquired.

"Who say anything 'bout airy
nother 'oman?" he asked.

"Dey one dar," she said, simply.

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

"Well, dey ain't no 'sputen* dat, but
I dunno whut her name wuz er whar-
'bouts she come f'um. Twan't long
atter dat fo' de widderer brung home
ernother honey-my-love. I don't
know whut wuz back uv all de doin's
dat tuck place, but dar wuz sump*n
dar whut ain't nuver come to light.
Boim' to b'en dat way. He fotch de
tew wife home one night, en dey
went in dat parlor arm in arm. Dey
walk in de parlor, en ez day walk in
dey heerd sump'n lak er cu'ous noise
over whar de pictur' hung, en dey
look, en bless goodness de 'oman in
de picture des step out in de flo' en
give her head a toss en walk f 'um de
room !"

"See me sail !" Shed exclaimed.

"I nuver is heerd de beat er dat,"
said Aunt Martha. "Ef I got ter die,
I nuver wanter die f'um sich er sight.
Picture turn into er ha'nt Ack big-
gity, walk outer de frame en toss her
head. Lawd, Lawd! What would
you er done, Unk' Adam, ef you'd a-
seed dat?"

"I'd er tossed my head th'oo de
winder en went off wid de sash 'roun'
my neck," he answered. "But I ain't
come to de funny part yit"

"How dey any funny part to a tale
lak dat?" she asked.

"Well, hit don't come in whar de
new bride fainted en de husban' run
fer de doctor, do it might, ef you
could see how quick he started fer de
doctor en how slow he come back. I
don't know how dat wuz, en I ain't
sayin'. It don't come in when dey all
foun', atter de bride come to her
senses, dat her hair wuz white en dat
her husbun's hair wuz white, en dat
de picture wuz a-hangin' up dar
same's ef it hadn't nuver turn't to a
ha'nt. De funny part wedge itse'f in
de tale whar Aunt Molly 'scribe er ole
nigger man, what been a suhvant in
de family fer years, comin' up de hall
wid some wine en cake on a waiter."

"He met de ha'nt," suggested Aunt
Martha.

"Yes, he met de ha'nt But de fun
didn't come in dar. He met de ha'nt,
but he thought it wuz de new bride.

Aun' Marthy, you know what dat ole
nigger do, well ez I do. Cain't you
des see him bow en scrape en try to
say sump'n nice, en overdo de thing?
Dat's whut he done. He bow en
scrape, en say how welcome she wuz,
en do he hadn't look dose at her, he
comperment her by sayin' dat she de
fines' lady whut uver step in dat
house. Consoun' ! Talkin' to er ha'nt,
en not only dat, but talkin' to er mad
ha'nt; en wus'n dat still, sayin' de
ve'y thing dat would rile de ghos'
wuss'n it wuz ! He made his speedi,
he did, en den raise his eyes 'spectin'
to see er smile, en right dar de wine en
cake struck de flo'! De ha'nt wuz
reachin' fer him — reachin' fer him,
mun, wid a look dat froze de blood in
de bones."

"Whut de ole nigger do?" Shed
inquired.

"Whut he do? Whut do de bullet
do when de cap bus? Dat ole bow-
legged fool show de ha'nt simip'n new.
He show dat things wid wings on
dey back ain't de swiftes' movers whut
you kin skeer up. Aun' Molly say de
tale go dat he didn't take time to turn,
but run back'ards 'twell he hit de do'
en got slewed roun' ez he bus' th'oo
it She say he nuver come back any
mo', nuther, en I ain't a-g^ine doubt
dat. Heah another nigger man whut
ain't gwine back dar, en I nuver seed
nothin' 'long side er whut he seed."

"I nuver know'd dat house 'uz
ha'nted," said Aunt Martha. "It des
go to show dat you nuver kin tell
whut you gwinter run into."

"Dat's er fac' I I nuver knowed er
dis house bein' ha'nted, but it wouldn't
'sprise me to see one step in here in
dis kitchen right now," he declared.

"I'd 'sprise you, do," said SheA
"You ain't nuver seed no runnin' yit"

"Well, I cain't say ez to dat, bein'
ez how me en you en a ha'nt ain't
nuver met up wid one 'nother at de
same time. I ain't noways anxious
fer dat to happen, but ef I uver got to
see another one er dem yer sights, I
wants you to be 'long wid me."

"Ef I is, you musn' blame me ef I
fails to stay wid you," he said.

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303

'1 wouldn' ; do I doubts which one
would lef de y'uther," Uncle Adam
replied. "Yes, I doubts dat. I'm a-git-
t'n' ole en wobbly in de legs — ^but,
shucks ! Don't nuver talk to me about
leavin' me back whar a ha'nt is, 'cause
I ain't a-gpvine b'lieve you. I mo'
apt to b'lieve dat we'd work side en
side lak er pa'r er well trained bosses
—I know we would, ef you kin move
lak you say you kin. We'd be lak
dem fo'ks at de graveyard gate dat
time. Uver hear 'bout dat? Wa'n't
no ha'nt dar — leastways none didn't
show itse'f. It 'uz dis way: Two
white mens stol't some chickens en
went in a graveyard to 'vide 'um up.
I knows dey wuz white mens, case ef
dey'd er been niggers, dis here tale
would er happen som'ers else. Well,
dey went to a graveyard to 'vide 'um
up, dey did, en had de chickens in er
sack on er grave 'mungst de tomb-
stones, all 'cep' two whut dey'd
drapped wid dey legs tied together
down by de gate. Dey sot dar on de
grave, 'vidin' 'um up. One count'n'
out, say, 'You take dis'n en I take
dat'n — ^you take dis'n en I take dat'n.'

"Two niggers come 'long de road
fum town, en dey hear 'um talkin'.
Dey stop at de gate en lis'n. Dey see
two fo'ms sett'n back dar 'mungst de
graves en hear one say, *You take
dis'n en I take dat'n — you take dis'n

en I take dat'n.' One de niggers ax
de yuther what in de name er de
Lawd he call dat? Tother one say
he heerd his mammy tell about sich er
thing, but he nuver thought he'd see
it indurin' his day en time. Fus' one
ax whut. T'other one say, *De debble
en his wife 'vidin' up souls.' Dey lis'n
some mo', en de two men wid de
chickens got in a 'spute. One say,
'You done tuck de bigges' dat time.'
De yuther say he didn't; t'other say he
did. Niggers lis'n. Dey 'spute awhile,
en den one say, 'Well, I'll take dis'n
en you take dem two over dar by de
gate.* Gentermens I Dem niggers riz
en flew I De man wuz talkin' 'bout de
chickens whut he'd lef at de gate,
but de niggers thought it wuz de deb-
ble en his wife 'vidin' up souls, en dey
gwinter th'ow dem in fer good meas-
ure in de deal. Dey tells me dat dem
niggers got started wid dey heads
down en run side en side clean pas'
home 'fo' dey knowed it."

"Hush yo' fuss!" Shed exclaimed.
"Ain't no use'n talkin' 'bout how a
man could leave a thing like that be-
hine. But hit's des a tale."

"How you know dat?" Uncle Adam
inquired.

"Case ef it wuz so, all dem niggers
would er heerd would er b'en, 'You
take dis'n.' "

"Shed know," was Aunt Martha's
comment.

7j^

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THE CHRISTMAS TREE

By James L. Elderdice

There is a tree, a wondrous tree.

That never, never grows,
Save in December's bitter cold,

Among the frozen snows.
Its fruit is strange and varied, too.

Of every color bright ;
It buds and bears and yields its crop

All in a single night.

The Christmas tree is not properly
a Christian tree at all, but of heathen
origin. Learned men disagree as to
whether this origin should be traced
to Ygdrasil, the tree of life in Scandi-
navian mythology, or to one of the
customs of the old Roman harvest fes-
tival, the Saturnalia, when houses
were decorated with evergreens to af-
ford the woodland spirits refuge from
the cold.

The Germans from ancient times
paid great veneration to certain trees ;
the Great Oak, at Wetzlar, which St.
Boniface cut down, was dedicated to
the thunder-god. In Catholic parts of
Germany there are many sacred trees
still, with images of the Blessed Vir-
gins in them, thus consecrated and
preserved from destruction. When
Pope Gregory sent Augustine to con-
vert Saxon England, he told him to
accommodate, as far as possible,

Christian to heathen ceremonies, that
the people might not be startled.
There can be no doubt that our pres-
ent Christmas tree is a Germanic
and Scandinavian institution, im-
ported into France, Italy and Eng-
land. Trimmed with candles and
golden fruits, and sweet confections, it
has been, is and ever will be, the de-
light of children in all the homes of
the world, even the Hebrews of Eng-
land and America fitting it up for
their children in honor of the Mes-
siah, who, with them, is yet to come.

In Germany there is a legend that
when Eve plucked the fatal apple, the
leaves shriveled, the tree changed its
nature and became an evergreen, bear-
ing witness in all seasons to the fall
of man. Only once a year, on the
birthday of the Redeemer, it blooms
with lights and is laden with gifts of
love — and so we have the Christmas
tree.

One of the most popular traditions
entwined about the history of the
Christmas tree is that which connects
Martin Luther, the Reformer, with
its first use. One Christipkas Eve he
wandered over a snow-cojvcred coun-

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THE CHRISTMAS TREE

305

try, tinder a clear sky studded with
myriads of glittering stars. Over-
come with emotion, longing to repro-
duce the scene, and to explain the
sight to his family together with the
deep impression whidi it had made
upon his mind, he cut a small fir tree,
put some cancUes on its branches and
lit them. This fir tree was probably
the first one upon which candles ever
were lighted on Christmas Eve. There
are still to be found in many homes
in this country old German prints
which picture Luther and his family
around this tree.

The Christmas ^^ '»'«*«
brought to Americ
German emigrants
sylvania, and, perh;
by the Dutch settle
New York. The
Pennsylvania Gen
lived largely to 1
selves, and maintain
a humbler manner
much the same cus-
toms which they
had known in Ger-
many. Indeed, the
custom of trim-
ming the tree with
toys and trinkets '-
for the children of
the households,
had been practiced
for many years be-
fore it attracted
general attention,
and as late as the
early part of the
last century it was

considered a novelty in American
homes outside of German communi-
ties.

Francis E. Leupp, United States
Commissioner of Indian affairs, in a
recent magazine article describing how
the Indians spend Christmas, says:

"When the white people brought
to the notice of the Indians the Christ-
mas tree, with its annual crop of beau-
ties and benefits, the pretty fancy
caught hold of their minds very
promptly. Indeed, Chief King Thun-
der, on the Rosebud Reservation in

South Dakota, who once used to hate
the white man's ways, acknowledged
his conversion in the presence of a
Christmas tree set up by a trader for
the Indians of his camp, by saying to
the donor : 'My friend, you have made
our hearts glad. Our children are
happy, and you tell us that this is
good — that it is the right thing to do.
If it is such a good thing we ought
to have one of these trees every wedk.'
"The Southern Cheyennes have
given the Christmas tree the pretty
title, 'the giving tree.'

"Trees, generally, are among the
m^cf '^'^nspicuous objects of
n the pantheistic reli-
ed by most of our In-
d evergreens are re-
ith especial reverence
trees that are 'ever
One of the Indian
>nials, which, perhaps,
a closer relation than
ny other to our
liristmas tree celebra-
ion, may be found
mong the traditions
f one of the groups in
North Dakota:
Many years ago, it
runs, during the
days of the 'medi-
cine clan,' a cedar
tree was brought
in by the leading
medicine men in
the early spring,
^before any medi-
cine ceremony
^^ ^' could be per-
formed. The cedar tree was adored
on account of the length of its life,
and called 'Grandmother.'

"The tree was always planted di-
rectly in front of the medicine lodge.
Before it was put in its accustomed
place, people were invited to make
offerings to "Grandmother." Calicoes,
shawls, moccasins, robes, etc., were
brought and placed on the tree, chiefly
by the children and youth, much in the
same manner as we place our gifts
on the Christmas tree. Everyone who
brought anything to the 'ever living

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Grandmother/ was absolved for any
wrong he had committed, and re-
ceived a living benediction from one
of the four leading medicine men, who
ended the ceremony by an earnest
prayer that those who had honored
the Grandmother by gifts might be
blessed with health, goodness and long
life — the same as she herself enjoyed.
The gifts were afterwards distribu-
ted."

In connection with the many le-
gends associated with the Christmas
tree, it is interesting to learn that
many of the people of Glastonbury, in
Somerset, England, still believe in the
miraculous properties of the famous
"Glastonbury thorn" that blossoms at
Christmas-tide, and is then duly hon-
ored. According to tradition, Joseph
of Arimathea, soon after the Savior's
crucifixion, came to England, bring-
ing with him the holy gr^Al, or chalice,
used at the Last Supper. Landing at
Glastonbury, he traveled inland and
sat down to rest at a spot now known
as Weary-All Hill. He thrust his staff
of hawthorne into the ground. It
immediately sprouted and g^ew into
a tree that was venerated as a holy
relic. Notwithstanding the fact that
botanists say that there is a variety
of hawthorne that always blossoms

just at this season, a number of old
men and women every Christmas
morning may be seen at Weary-All
Hill, engaged in prayer and meditation.
Of all Christmas tree customs, one
of the strangest prevails in parts of
Russia. It associates the festivities
with one of the most important events
of life — the choice of a wife. A gift tree
is set up in the village, on the branches
of which roost young unmarried
women, cloaked and hooded and
veiled, so that their identity is con-
cealed. At the proper hour the wait-
ing swains are admitted one by one,
just as they are in our familiar Ameri-
can game of "clap in, dap out." Each
as he enters lifts a veil, — of course, at
random, — and the face thus disclosed
belongs to his future wife. The act of
lifting the veil betroths the couple,
the penalty for breaking the engage-
ment being a heavy fine to be paid
into the village treasury. We are told
that the result seldom fails to be hap-
py. But we can readily believe that
in interviews before the hour of trial,
conspiracies for the cheating of ill
fortune are made, and the lover may
depend upon his ingenious inamorata
to convey to him the concerted signal
whereby her identity may be deter-
mined.

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ANNE^S SWEETHEARTS CHRISTMAS

PRESENT

By Berenice Fearn Young

|T'S perfectly absurd
Anne's not being
married — she looks
so marriageable ! Be-
sides, we've all got
our tails cut off —
why shouldn't she?
Which the same may
be neither gram-
mar nor rhetoric
nor yet good taste,
but it's human nature. At least it's
woman's nature. We've got to get
Anne married."

All four of the girls were sitting
on the Westinghouse colonnade wait-
ing for Anne Hopkins to join them,
and then on to the Lacys' for
"bridge." Of the four, three were
married and one tottering on the
brink. They and Anne had grown up
together in the little town at the foot
of the mountain, and all but Anne
had passed from a merry girlhood to
a gay young-ladyhood and so, by ways
more or less devious and strange,
Elizabeth said, into the state of mat-
rimony. Instead of going to parties
on the mountain now and coming
home with the waning moon in the
early dawn they had their morning
whist club twice a week, their after-
noon euchre dub once a . week, a
Browning class each Thursday, the
Qiurch Guild every two weeks, and
their husbands and a sprinkling of
children at other times.

Elizabeth, who had been engaged
three times every year of her life
since she could g^urgle, had now set-
tled within herself that she really
loved Tom Winter, and that any-
how she either had to marry or, as

she declared, do woi:se — "go to At-
lanta and keep house for a wifeless
brother and four children." She was
to be married in October. So Anne
alone of the old crowd was left un-
plucked from the parent stem, and
the other four were bent upon get-
ting her off by January at least.

"Jane," said Elizabeth, "what in the
name of all that's eligible, has become
of Walter Ludlow?"

"Oh, he's awfully hard to marry!
I tried it for years. He's spent a life-
time wandering from the pyramids of
Egypt to the prairies of Texas in
search of variety — doesn't seem to be
able to find it in any infinite amount in
either Qeopatra or the cowboy girl —
and he's finally brought up in Knox-
ville. Lives in a house of his own,
if you please, with two Chinese cool-
ies and an Indian worshiper of the
sun, supposed to be "er gen'm'n" by
the Knoxville darkies because, al-
though "he do wear a nightgownd on
de street an' big gold rings in his
y'ers an' a head hank'chif, yet his
ways is male!" Walter's old black
mammy cooks for him, and their
combined efforts have made him im-
pregnable against the assault of any
woman on earth. He's full of ideas
and isms and fads and things, and
convictions, whatever they may be,
about woman's extravagance and love
of money, besides. We'll have to pass
him up, he'd spoil any lone hand in
the world. And then he won't marry,
he just won't — ^and there's an end to
that."

"I think he will," said Sara quietly
— "any man will, if you approach him
with judgment and patience,"

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

"Oh, patience— out upon patience I
We haven't time for it between now
and January. We've got to do things
— ^Anne won't." This from Fan An-
drews who had met her fate (Eliza-
beth's name for him was "prey"), on
Monday and married him on Tues-
day of the following week, and who
went by the name of Solomon Grun-
dy in tfie crowd because of this pre-
cipitate accomplishment.

"Look here," protested Elizabeth,
"I met Walter Ludlow in Nashville
the year after the World's Fair —
Goodness ! how long ago that's been I
I was but as an infant in arms in my
knowledge of ways and means to ac-
quire man, I smile now to think. Any-
way, Walter Ludlow was telling me
of a dark-eyed girl he had traveled
with from Chicago to Nashville, who
was coming on home here. My eyes
beini; blue I made all sorts of inqui^
ies and found out it was Anne I Anne's
eves, Anne's face like a magnolia,
Anne's head like the Venus de Milo,
and no doubt her shoulders bore the
wings of Samothrace and her feet
the sandals of Atalanta. From time
to time through all these immemorial
years, as the poetry book hath it,
whenever I have seen Walter Lud-
low, he's never failed to ask about
"those eyes of October." Now all
this has a moral and those who will
may see — ^let's have him down from
Knoxville to my wedding, and marry
Anne to him in January. It's ri-
diculous her going to waste like this.
Ill make Tom ask Walter Ludlow,
who never was known to refuse an
invitation, for fear he'll miss a sen-
sation. He says he's so bored with
everyday life that he goes around
hunting sensations with a butterfly
net I gave him one once."

"One what? Butterfly net?"

"Umph-mph — sensation."

"Why didn't you marry him?"

"Don't ask me ! He led me a bore-
alis race (he's got piles of money)
but he flitted ere I could get to the
place," and Elizabeth laughed and
picked up her fan.

So it was decided for Anne. Wal-

ter Ludlow was asked to Elizabeth's
wedding house-party and duly turned
up — tall, near-sighted, slightly bald,
thin as thin ice, and as inscrutable as
a Chinese mandarin. Fan Andrews
said. He attached himself to Anne,
who unconscious of the plot against
her, endured him and was outwardly
calm. Anne was always outwardly
calm and very handsome. She didn't
want to get married, but she didn't
mind being married. The others
were, and while there were disagreea-
bles and inconveniences coincident
with marriage, still the odds were in
its favor. It's nice to have an estab-
lishment and servants and things.
There were two nieces, a younger
brother, and a sister whose husband
had thought better of it and left for
pastures new, all at her father's. Then
there were her father and her mother.
Yes, the house was full. Some people •
seemed to like being married, maybe
she would. So when in early Decem-
ber, Walter Ludlow asked her in an
even, well-modulated voice to marry
him, she replied with unaccountable
calm that she would; unaccountable,
because, after all, you know, when a
man asks you to marry him and you
say yes, why — ought you to be calm?

Walter Ludlow showed her all the
necessary attention as far as coming
to the little town and ensconcing him-
self in the village hotel and calling on
her twice a day was concerned. He
made her no presents. There were no
flowers, no books, not even the cus-
tomary ring. Anne thought that a
little strange, or rather she thought
very little about it, but Susie thought
it mighty strange. Susie was the sis-
ter rejected of man.

They were to be married in Janu-
ary. The rest of the winter was to be
spent in New York. In March they
were to go to the West Indies, and
later to Europe for a year. Anne had
never been to Europe, nor indeed any-
where. That trip to Chicago in her
early girlhood had been her only flight
from home, but she loved all beauti-
ful things and pleasures, imagined
them, and longed for them, and for-

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ANNE'S SWEETHEART'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT

309

dgn countries for to see. She and
Ludlow talked of where they would
go and what they would enjoy. No,
Anne listened, Ludlow talked. She
wondered sometimes when he was ab-
sent why she was so silent, so un-
stirred. Not indifferent to the wed-
ding, nor to the journey planned, but
to the man belonging to them. Was
she indifferent or only piqued, she
asked herself, because she was not
wooed as other women are? Yet
what, after all, had she to complain
of? Walter Ludlow wanted a wife,
wanted her for that office, at least,
he seemed to, for the world was full
of women. She wanted a husband
and she had one, at least, she was
about to have one. She wished she
were in love, she wanted to be in love.
She had always wanted to be again
since that summer before she was
twenty and Charlie Westmoreland had
danced himself into her favor. Now
Charlie Westmoreland was living in
Baltimore, married this ten years.
Their little romance had blazed up
and out long, long ago. She had had
other "suitors," as her mother, who
came from South Carolina, called
them, in a reasonable plenty. But she
had not cared for them nor ever con-
templated marriage with them. Dick
Funston got drunk. Henry Mills was
silly, and then, anyhow, he had bow
1^. Sam Spofford had three sisters,
all of them lived at home, and all of
them, including Sam, were unmiti-
gated old maids. Hal Erskine had a
mother who adored him and made
him miserable with her jealousy. Ross
Wilson had no money and no ambi-
tion and no pride, and was content
to live up at the Wilson place with
his grandmother and on her slender
bounty. Ross was mighty sweet,
though, and the most persistent woo-
er of them all. He had asked her to
marry him every Tuesday and Satur-
day night that she could remember.
Two years ago, for a month, he had
come in as usual on his regular nights
and had brought with him a slip of
paper on whidi was written:

This is an oflFer of marriage I hereby
present myself and all my appurtenances,
namely to wit one coon dog (a good dog),
one bay mare (a thoroughbred), and one
aged grandmother (quality and qualifica-
tions un-named) to Anne Hopkins. The
consignor herewith presents his compli-
ments to the consignee. She will please
sign here."

There was a heavy line drawn un-
derneath, a place for Anne's name.

On giving her the first one he
had said, "File this away, Anne, for
future reference. It will always be
honored, no matter when presented,"
and then had proceeded to talk of
other things. Each time after that
he had placed the slip of paper in the
chafing dish on the sideboard, mak-
ing quite a ceremony of it, but utter-
ing not a word. Once he had bidden
her good-night and gone — she did not
remember until after he had left that
his customary ceremony at the chaf-
ing dish had been omitted. Laugh-
ing softly to herself she sat by the
window and listened to his steps
sounding down the quiet street. Just
as he reached the comer, they had
stopped, and then she heard him com-
ing swiftiy back. It was the only
time she had ever heard him walk
fast. He bounded over the low gate
without stopping to unfasten it, came
to the window and as she leaned for-
ward expectant, of she knew not what,
he kissed her on the mouth and slipped
the strip of paper into her surprised
fingers, and without a word went
away once more ; not walking rapidly,
but with his accustomed leisurely
stroll, hands in his pockets and head
a little back.

That had been two years ago. Since
that night he had not come back. She
did not know why and would not ask
him. She had seen him many times,
oftenest at the church door when she
went in — ^he never did. There was
nothing in his manner to denote es-
trangement or offense. Indeed, why
should he be either offended or es-
tranged? His smile was sweet al-
ways, and it was always the same
lazy, pleasant voice that said, "How-

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dy, Anne," every time. For a little
she had wondered at it, then had
g^own hurt, then maybe a little an-
gry, then she had tried not to think
about it and she wasn't quite sure
that she had quit thinking. She had
never destroyed one of the slips of
paper. They were in a sandal-wood
box on the high, old-fashioned bureau
in her bedroom. Sometimes she
looked at them. After a year Ross
had gone to Mobile, to visit his grand-
mother's brother, it was rumored. He
had not come back. Anne infrequent-
ly went up the hill and paid a visit
to his grandmother, a curious little,
old lady with a tight, wrinkled face
and a formal manner. The two wom-
en never spoke of Ross, but they both
thought of him.

Anne was pondering all these
things in her mind, and other things,
on the night before Christmas, as she
sat by her fire, late. Walter Ludlow
had come and gone. The fire in the
grate was piled so high that she had
been a little afraid to leave it, and, be-
sides, January was near at hand. Her
two trunks were all but packed, and
their rooms in the Manhattan Hotel
engaged for the winter. Walter had
told her about it to-night, or rather
he had stated the fact, and had dis-
coursed on the fare and the service
of the hotel, its conveniences, and its
nearness to the theater district. She
had listened calmly, offering no com-
ment other than a word of agreement,
which was all that was expected of
her. He had only just gone, and his
self-consdous, well groomed, slightly
bald presence still seemed to be in
the room.

After a moment, Anne rose, pushed
back the chair on which he had been
seated, swept with a tiny hearth broom
the hearth clean of the ashes of his
cigar, flung, with an almost passion-
ate gesture, into the fire, the envelope
with the Manhattan monogram on it
which he had left on the table, and
moving to the window, opened it to
the mild winter night. She stood
there until she was thoroughly chilled,
then closing the window, she came

back to her chair before the fire. Pres-
ently, she slipped to the floor and on
her knees, with her head on her arms,
the calmness, the indifference, the un-
disturbed sereneness broke with a pas-
sion of tears. The weeping did not
last long. In an hour she was mount-
ing the steps to her room, but it was
long till the morning.

The house when she came down to
breakfast, was filled with lau^^iing and
gift giving and Christmas glee. All
four of the girls, Elizabeth, home for
the holidays with her "irrevocable
man," as she said, dropped in with
their husbands or children, as had
always been their habit There were
none of Anne's four old friends but
was on the anxious seat about her.
They couldn't be certain of Anne un-
til after she had said "I take this
man" ; then they knew she'd keep her
promise.

Ludlow was there, perfect in man-
ner and clothes, doing his honors with
composure. He had brought no gift
Susie and the nieces chattered to one
another about it, and Anne's mother
was outraged. "He might, at least,
have brought her flowers, carnations
or roses or violets," she said. Anne,
only, was her quiet self, apparently
with no feeling and quite content To-
gether, she and Ludlow went to serv-
ice at the old church which breathed
the peace and greenery of Christmas.
Ludlow was, of course, a guest at the
Christmas dinner, where his presence,
one of the nieces declared, made ev-
erybody feel like an iced cake, afraid
to smile for fear of cracking the ic-
ing. However, that frivolous young
person fearlessly cracked hers and
kept the table from gloom.

In the afternoon, just after she and
Ludlow started for a walk, the one
telegraph messenger boy of the little
town appeared at the door with a
message for Anne. The frivolous
niece signed for it and tripping up-
stairs, laid it on top of the sandsd-
wood box on Anne's bureau, and
tripped off with her own lover to a
Christmas gathering, from which she
returned not until the wee hours of

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ANNE'S SWEETHEART'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT

the night; and what she saw when
she passed her aunt Anne's door, she
never forgot

Anne and her intended, no — Lud-
low and his intended walked all the
afternoon until the end of Christmas
day died in the west. They walked
to the foot of the mountain and back,
and he left her at the gate just as the
dusk of the short winter day deepened
into a night of stars. He was to re-
turn to her later in the evening, per-
haps in an hour, but wanted, he said,
to go to the hotel and get his Christ-
mas letters. But he would be back,
yes, in an hour, and she would give
him a cup of tea and they would have
a long evening together — ^he wanted
to tell her of a Christmas he had once
spent in Spain. Anne wondered if he
was marrying her to have somebody
who would be obliged to listen to ac-
counts of where he had spent his
various Christmases. She watched
him disappear in the shadows of the
darkening street with a feeling that
smothered, giving place to one of re-
lief — for would she not be free for an
hour? Then it came upon her with a
mighty awakening that she could not
marry him. Marry him, live with
him, listen to him, never be free
again! No. Not for New York, not
for Cuba, not for Europe, not for a
house and servants, not for comfort
and ease for herself and relief from
the monotony of life, not to help her
father along nor the girls nor Susie,
not for the heavens above, nor the
earth beneath nor the waters under
the earth would she ! She ran up the
kmg walk to the house. She opened
the door and went into the sitting
room. She removed her hat and wrap.
She stood by the mantel, then at the
window, then dropped into her chair.
The chair drawn near to hers by
Susie in anticipation of their return,
she pushed away from her, and then
drew her own up to it. She leaned
forward a little and spoke to him as
if he were in it "I won't — and I am

not even sorry. I won't and that's
all I feel."

After a half hour she went out in
the dining room. She placed beaten
biscuit, slices of cold turkey and two
slender glasses of wine on a silver
tray. This she set on a small table
between their chairs in the sitting
room. On the opposite side of her
own chair she pulled forward the low
tea table, filled the alcohol lamp, and
picking up the little copper teakettle,
went to the kitchen and filled it with
fresh water.

So, with entertainment ready for
Ludlow's inner man, she waited for
him, calm, resolved. She would tell
him after he had lunched. It would
be more courteous, he would like it
better. She smiled at the thought.

Punctual to the minute, he re-
turned, full of talking, full of him-
self, interested in his mail and what
he had to say, and not, for an instant
thinking it possible that she could be
otherwise than he. Anne bided her
time. He ate his lunch finally, en-
joying it and her beauty. She ate with
him outwardly passive. Inwardly,
there gathered the storm which would
presently break. It had been a habit,
for these little tea-time lunches had
been introduced at his suggestion ear-
ly in the days of their engagement,
for each to lift the wineglass, touch
it with the lips and then pass it to
the other. He spoke of it very pret-
tily and quoted "drink to me only with
thine eyes," with entirely the correct
feeling. He greatly admired Anne's
eyes.

To-night, she drank from her own
glass, offering neither salute of the
lips nor exchange. If he noticed it he
did not remark upon it, his attention
at the moment being centered on him-
self.

He watched her with evident pleas-
ure, however, as she removed the ta-
ble from between them. He drew
his chair closer to hers and lightly
kissed the fingers that handed him his
cup of tea. They talked, or he did, of
the aroma and flavor of certain teas.

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

and he told her of an adventure of his
in Japan in a tea shop there, and of
a rare and expensive bit of lacquered
ware he had purchased.

She was about to break into his
narrative with matter of more vivid
interest to her than a Japanese waiter,
when he put his hand in his pocket
and brought out a package. ''I have
brought you a Christmas present,
Anne. I hope you will like them — I
think them rather good."

A fraction disconcerted, she opened
the package. It contained a dozen
full-length photographs of Ludlow.
She pidced up one, looked at it un-
seeing, and replacing it on the others
in her lap, was about to speak. He
had watched her — ^what he saw in
her face is open to conjecture, but
he spoke, asking for a glass of water.
Immediately, she arose with the pic-
tures in her hand. He opened the
door for her, never forgetful or neg-
lectful of the little courtesies of life,
and asked if he might be allowed to
get the water for himself. She shook
her head, laughing a little. In the din-
ing room she encountered Susie, the
widow indeed.

"What on earth, Anne? Are you
sick? Where are you going? Has
your sweetheart gone? What's that
you have?" came like so many shots
from a pop g^n. Anne handed her
the pictures, saying, ''My Christmas
present." At which Susie poured forth
a stream of ejaculation. "For mercy's
sake! Is this all? His picture!
Twelve of them! For pity's sake!
Is this the best he can do? And he's
worth a half million, and some say a
million, if he's worth thirty cents!
Mighty little comfort you'll get out
of being married to him ! Well, I do
say! He thinks he's good looking,
too— you can see that all over him,
and bisdd as an egg! Did you ever?"
Anne left while the shots rang thick-
est and securing the water, returned
to the sitting room. Ludlow took the
water, rising from his chair and com-
ing hastily forward. He set the glass
down and placing the arm of posses-
sion across Anne's shoulders, drew

her over to the table. She slipped
from his arm with her breath coming
rather quickly and followed the di-
rection of his pointing finger. L)ring
on the table was a flat box, a jewel-
er's box, satin-lined, and partly in it
and partly on the table, lay a very ex-
quisite necklace of rubies.

"These are for you, Anne. They are
Oriental gems. I got them in Stam-
boul. I gave you the pictures first,
knowing, of course, that being pic-
tures of me they should be more val-
uable to you than any gift, and all-
suflicient. Yet the women of this cen-
tury are become so tainted with the
mercenary spirit that I really felt jus-
tified as it were in trying you with
the photographs simply of the man
who is going to make you his wife,
before offering you the jewels. It is
this same motive which has prompted
me during our engagement to refrain
from showering upon you costly pres-
ents, I wished to be preferred for my-
self alone."

What monstrous thing was the man
saying? She hardly heard him. She
did not touch the jewels, but with a
hand resting on the table, spoke diat
which made him forget the rubies,
even for a little, forget himself.

"I am not going to marry you. No.
You must see it is not possible. You
should have seen it in time to prevent
your having ever asked me. I did
see it, yet I accepted your offer at its
face value. You had tried everything
except marriage to relieve the mo-
notony of your life. I was willing to
try an)rthing, even marriage, to re-
lieve the monotony of mine. It was
risk with both of us, with me the
most, of necessity — with me the most
Now, as I draw near the time when
I am to leave myself and be your self,
I find that I cannot do it I should
have told you sooner, but I did not
know it really — that I could not be
your wife. I mean that, could not —
until this afternoon. And I have
wanted to tell you all the evening,
but you were busy talking." She did
not mean the irony. She simply
meant what she said.

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OLD WASH

313

"Is it possible?" breathed Ludlow,
unable to understand that he was
Ludlow. And then another thought
came to him : "Is it possible that there
is another man? I can see no other
reason for this — I can see no reason
whatever for this most unexpected
and unwarrantable — "

"It is quite possible that there
should be another man." Her voice
was controlled, "but it has nothing
to do with the situation at present."

"There is nothing for me to say if
your decision is final."

"My decision is unalterable." Lud-
low gathered up the gems, placed
them in the box, snapped it shut, and
at the door he said : "The pictures can
be returned to me at the hotel. I
shall be there until the eleven o'clock
train in the morning." The door
closed and he was gone.

Anne went up to her room, and it
was there by her table that the frivo-
lous niece saw her and never forgot
the sight.

Anne, in her white gown, ready
for bed, with her hair in two long
braids falling on either side of the
magnolia face, an open sandal-wood
box beside the spread sheet of yellow
telegram on the table, and Anne,
writing her name on slip after slip
of paper which she took from the
sandal-wood box, kissing every sepa-
rate slip of paper and patting the
telegram each time she finished writ-
ing her name. Her eyes of October
dropped now and again tears that
Ross Wilson would have given his
whole last year's salary to see.

The telegram read:

Coming tomorrow Can't help it Sec
chafing dish for further particulars.

THE CHRISTMAS HA'NT

(A Plantation Legend Told in Verse by Old Wash )

Christmus week in de 'forties an' we-all wuz feelin' fine,
Egg-nog flowed in a silver bowl wid de juice uv de muscadine.
We fiddled all day in de cabin, we danced all night in de hall,
An' now de Big House all lit up fur de white fo'ks Christmus ball.
Dey danced de old Ferginny, dey ripped and r'ar'd to de jig,
An' when dey got emuff uv dat t'wuz whisky an' roasted pig —
(But dat ain't de tale a-pesterin' me — ^jes' listen at dis ole nig!)

Den cum de nuts an' de apples, de speechifyin' an' toasts ;

"Did you ur'r see a nigger/* ole Marster axed, "dat didn't Vleeve in ghosts^'

He sed it wid winks a-laffin' an' de cump'ny all sed, "No!"

An' den I bowed wid a curt'sy bow an' a backward scrape uv my toe :

"May it please you, Marster, white fo'ks all, now dafs intended fur me.

But heah's a nigger dat ain't a^skeered of ghost es, es you shall see!

Trot out yo' sperrits," sez I, "dis night — fum spooks to good whisky!"

Den Marster laflf wid a great big laff, an' wink wid a mighty wink —
Sez he: "Heah's ten uv de Eaglets coin ef you ha'f es game es you think.

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314 THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

Now you go up to de ha'nted house nigh de graveyahd whar dey sleep,
An' if you stay tell de break uv day, dis ten am your^n to keep!"
"May it please you, Marster, white fo'ks all," sed I wid anu'rr bow,
"/ nuver heerd nuthin' servig'ous es dat, nut look es good, I vow.
Ifs pickin' it up in de road," sez I, "an' I'll start fur dat money nowf

I tuck three drinks an' started out fur de house in de lonely wood,

I trotted along in de moonlight dim an' whistled es loud es I cu'd.

I seed de spot by de cabin do' whar de muhdered man wuz foun',

An' it wuz ba'r, fur de grass wouldn't g^oyf on dat ar spot uv grotm'.

But I knowed I hadn't done nuffin' to him, so I opens de creechy do'.

An' de win' hit moan th'oo de crevice crack an' den hit moan some mo' :—

Zo — o — o — Zoo, it say, an' den — ^my Lawd! Meow — me — o!

My blood froze stiff, fur dar in de room a great big black cat stood,

Wid eyes es big es a risin' moon an' a tail like a bushy wood.

An' he sot his great big yaller eyes on mine fur a cunjer spell.

An' roun' an' roim' he circled roun' entidn' me to hell I

But I kep' my eyes on dem demon eyes fur I knowed ^f de spell wa'nt broke

He'd gallop wid me to hell an' back in de twis' of de witch's yoke !

Roun* an* roun' wid his witch's eyes, an' n'ar one uv us spoke.

At las' he see it wouldn't wuck, an' den he climi on a cheer
An' put his paw right under his jaw an' spit out blue ambeer !
An' den he tuck sum brimstone snuflf f 'um a box uv fiah, an' shakes
His tail tell ev'ry ha'r stood da'r, an Lawd! dey wuz little snakes!
An' den he laff a 'sateful laff an' sez he, "How-do-you-do?
Does you kno' dar ain't nobody heah but des' us bully boys two?
Sez I, as I tuck a runnin' start, sez I, "Dis leaves des' you!"

I run tell I drap on a san' bank five miles by de wil<Jgoose trail,

Wid little witches playin' craps on de flap uv my ole coat tail.

Bellussed an' winded I had to drap, but I'd hardly hit de san'

Befo' dar cum in his grabe-clothes de deades' kind uv a man!

But he hilt de head uv a still deader man in 'is arms an' hit grinned an spit,

An' puckered his lips an' sed: "Ole man you sho'ly kin run a bit!"

"My Lawd!" sez I, a starin' erg'in, "You hain't seed no runnin' yit!"

^^^l

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS'

By Anna Erwin Woods

[Arranged from the papers and personal memolri of Andrew Brwin]

CHAPTER XVIII— Continued

Captain Leonard Helm was ap-
pointed commandant at St Vincent's
and agent for Indian affairs in the
department of the Wabash. This of-
ficer had been particularly recom-
mended to Qark for his knowledge
of the department, and the general
prudence of his character. As things
turned out, Qark's judgment of Helm
was in keeping with his usual sagaci-
ty in reading men.

It was just after these occurrences
at St. Vincent's that our commander
found himself in the midst of a new
perplexity. The three months for
which his troops had been enlisted had
expired. It is not to be presumed,
however, that a man so fertile in re-
sources as our leader would be daunt-
ed by circtmistances by which an or^
dinary military man would be ren-
dered helpless. Regarding, not the lim-
its of his authority, but the preserva-
tion of the interest for which it had
been conferred upon him, he re-en-
listed his men upon a new footing;
raised a company among the French
inhabitants commanded by their own
officers; and established garrisons at
each of the forts.

The captive British commandant of
Kaskaslda was sent to Virginia in
charge of an officer; a report was
sent to Governor Patrick Henry of
the whole of Qark's proceedings ; and
a request made for the appointment of
a civil commandant who should take
diarge of the political affairs of this
far-away portion of the Virginia com-

^Begnn in Uie May Issue.

monwealth. Far away it was, indeed,
for we were separated by fifteen hun-
dred miles of wilderness from Wil-
liamsburg, the seat of government;
and we were many hundreds of miles
from our nearest friends in Kentucky.

Notwithstanding a success so great-
ly beyond his means, and almost be-
yond his expectations, the uneasiness
of Qark was great. He fully appre-
ciated our critical situation and the ne-
cessity for exerting all the address of
which he was master. Every influence
was required to counteract the agen-
cy and control of the British, who had
distributed the bloody belt and hatch-
et among the Indians throughout the
whole region of Lake Superior and
the Mississippi. Had we been joined
by every man from Kentucky and
many from Virginia, we could not
have resisted these warlike tribes by
force.

In order to conceal the rashness of
our invasion of the Illinois, and the
desperate danger of our situation, we
were instructed to speak constantly
of our fort at the Falls of the Ohio;
of that being the headquarters of our
army, of which we were only a de-
tachment; and of the reinforcements
daily expected. Indeed, Qark left no
means unused to strengthen his in-
fluence and authority among those
by whom we were surrounded.

Having succeeded, with only his ri-
fle troops, in capturing three of the
strongest British forts armed with
cannon; and having secured the ac-
tive co-operation of th6 French, he
evinced, more than ever, an ardent de-

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sire to secure the good will of the
Spaniards across the Mississippi. This
being considered by him a matter of
most serious importance, we were in-
structed to cultivate a good under-
standing with the Spanish and also
with the French inhabitants of St.
Louis.

There was one young man among
us who joyously announced his de-
termination to zealously obey this or-
der; and I will tell you why.

Upon M. Cerr^'s return home, he
had brought to Mademoiselle Adri-
enne a message from her father ad-
vising her to come to St Louis at the
earliest moment practicable. We had
known that her home was in that
town, and that she was only on a vis-
it to her aunt at the time of our unex-
pected arrival.

When Gordon first heard of the
wish expressed by M. Soularde (Ad-
rienne's father) that she should re-
turn home, he was in despair. I well
knew that it made no difference where
she might be, for wherever it was he
would soon follow, so I was not as-
tonished when, a few days after her
going he exclaimed:

"&x>d luck, Ned! Look upon the
happiest man in the Illinois! I am
to bear dispatches to Bowman, to re-
main with him until further orders.
May they be long in coming!"

After a few moments of silence,
during which he seemed to be in a
very pleasant reverie, he resumed his
confidences :

"Ned, do you not understand that
Qark wishes us to cultivate pleasant
relations with the St. Louis people?
By Jove ! I always obey a command-
er like ours, who would not hesi-
tate to have one shot for disobedi-
ence. He ordered me to guard the
home of M. Cerr^, and I did it with
all my heart. Now he wishes us to
make friends in St. Louis, and I shall
spend the greater part of my time on
the western side of the Mississippi,
trying, by every means in my power,
to gain the regard of some of those
people. Pierre Chenier is still at Ca-
hokia> and I can persuade him to go

over there with me; he has relatives
in St. Louis. Good-bye, Ned — you
will never know what it is to live un-
til you fall in love !"

CHAPTER XIX
Clark's treaties with the Indians

Our commander now found him-
self so placed that his attention could
be given to the Indians. The most war-
like tribes upon the whole western con-
tinent were those by whom we, less
than two hundred men, were sur-
rounded; and the danger of our sit-
uation was such that it was necessary*
to gain a mastery over them without
bloodshed. Qark's negotiations with
these savages were conducted in the
same remarkable spirit of strong, sa-
gacious daring which had stamped his
course heretofore. He had long been
interested in studying Indian char-
acter ; and had made himself intimate-
ly acquainted with the French and
Spanish modes of treating them. "I
determined," he said afterward, "to
guard against spoiling them, as was
too much the case with the English,
who were constantly inviting them to
treaties and giving them presents. I
believed in fighting them until they
would request a treaty. Placed as we
were in the Illinois, it was necessary
to make them afraid of us. I had two
good points in my hand, the French
treaty, and the good-will of the
French inhabitants; for the rest I
had to depend upon myself."

The English were not much re-
garded by the Indians, who served
them only for pay. They despised
Spaniards, and dreaded the Ameri-
cans ; but the French they had alwa)rs
loved. Two centuries of tact and kind
treatment, especially from the French
priests, had strengthened this feeling.

The wise and rightful spirit which
Qark exhibited toward their ancient
and beloved Church won for us, not
only the services of Pere Gibault
(who subsequently received the pub-
lic thanks of Virginia) but also the
friendship of his parishioners, which
resulted in the active co-operation of

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS

317

the French interest ; and was produc-
tive of most valuable results in under-
mining the British influence through-
out a large portion of those regions.

Through Pere Gibault, messages
were interchanged with an Indian
chief whose title was the Grand Door
of the Wabash ; and, in fact, nothing
of any importance was undertaken re-
specting the whole Wabash country
without the consent of this chief. He
resided near St. Vincent's and Cap-
tain Helm was instructed to use ev-
ery influence to win him over.

I had been sent to St. Vincent's to
take a letter from Colonel Qark
which Captain Helm delivered, in an
Indian council, to the Grand Door as
a friendly talk from the American
commander, inviting him to unite with
the Long Knife (as they called Vir-
ginia) and his old Father, the King
of France. With the usual circum-
spection of the Indian character, the
diief declined to make any answer
to the talk until he had assembled his
councillors.

The dignity which was observed by
the Grand Door was exactly followed
by Captain Helm ; and, in this way, it
was several days before the council
was concluded. At length, Helm was
invited to attend a meeting of the
chiefs. All being assembled, the
Grand Door said:

"The sky has been very dark with
the war between the Long Knife and
the English ; but now it is cleared up.
The Long Knife was in the right; and,
perhaps if the English conquer them,
they will serve the Indians the same
way." Then he jumped up and struck
his breast and said: "I have always
been a man and a warrior, and now
I am a Long Knife; and I will tell
the red people to bloody the land no
more for the English." He then shook
hands with Captain Helm, and his ex-
ample was followed by all the chiefs.

The Grand Door remained always
a true friend to the Americans, and
his conduct had a wide influence on
many chiefs in causing them to make
peace. At his ovra request, when he
died be was buried with 4II tb^ hon-

ors of war near the fort at Cahokia.
The last time I was in St. Louis, I
• went across the river to visit the grave
of this good chief whom I had Imown
and esteemed.

Soon after my return from St Vin-
cent's, I accompanied Colonel Qark
to an Indian council which he had
been requested to attend at Cahokia.
Immediately upon our arrival I tried
to find Gordon, and was by no means
surprised to learn that he and Pierre
Chenier were both across the river at
St Louis, where, I was told, they
passed a good deal of their time. It
was not until the evening of the fol-
lowing day that I met them upon their
return to Cahokia.

"By the heathen god of war, and
Venus too !" exclaimed Gordon, greet-
ing me in the most affectionate man-
ner, "I am delighted to see you, Ned.
I have ten thousand things to talk
about."

"We will have a talk as soon as
possible," I replied. "Just now the
Commander keeps me in such close
attendance upon him at this council
that I have not a moment to spare."

"Oh, those everlasting Indians I"
said Gordon impatiently. "There are
swarms of them around Cahokia
waiting for Qark. We will be sick
unto death with their pow-pows."

"No," I answered. "We will be
made sicker by their tomahawks, if
Qark does not have the pow-pows. I
think he knows how to get along with
Indians. I have seen something of
them myself ; we have plenty of them
down in our country, in Washington
District ; a good many more than you
have in Virginia. You tide-water peo-
ple know nothing about Indians these
days; and I don't believe you ever
did. We people in the Wilderness un-
derstand them — ^at least, we have
learned by this time to expect from
them 'only lies, scalping-knives and
tomahawks."

Upon the opening of the council at
Cahokia, as the Indians were the so-
licitors, one of the chiefs advanced
to the table where Colonel Qark was
sitting. This chief bore in bis hand

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a belt of peace ; another came forward
with the sacred pipe ; and a third with
the fire to kindle it. After the pipe
was lighted, it was presented to the
heavens, then to the earth, and com-
pleting the circle, was presented to
all the spirits, invoking them to wit-
ness what was about to be done. The
pipe was then presented to Colonel
Qark and after him to every person
present. When these formalities were
all finished, addressing himself to the
Indians, the speaker (a chief) said:

"Warriors, you ought to be thank-
ful that the Great Spirit has taken
pity on you and cleared the sky, and
opened your hearts so that you may
hear the truth. We have been de-
ceived by bad birds flying through the
land [meaning the British emissa-
ries] ; but we will take up the bloody
hatchet no more against the Long
Knife ; and we hope that as the Great
Spirit has brought us together for
good, so we may be received as
friends, and peace may take the place
of the bloody belt."

The speaker then threw the belt of
wampum and tlie flags which they
had received from the British into the
middle of the room and stamped up-
on them as token of rejection.

Qark's reply was distant and
guarded. *1 have paid attention to
what has been said, and I will give an
answer to-morrow," he said, "when
I hope the hearts of all people will be
ready to receive the truth. But I rec-
ommend you to keep prepared for the
result of this council upon which your
existence as a nation depends. I de-
sire that you do not permit any of our
people to shake hands with you, as
peace is not yet made; and it is time
enough to give the hand when the
heart can be given also."

This speech excited the admiration
of the warriors. "Such sentiments
are like men who have but one hearty
and do not speak with forked
tongues," said they.

The council assembled next day and
Qark delivered another remarkable
speech. He explained to them fully
the cause of the trouble between Eng-

land and the colonies. "I am a man
and a warrior," he declared in an
earnest tone, "not a councillor ; I car-
ry war in my right hand, and in my
left peace." He ended by saying, "I
am convinced you never heard the
truth before. I do not wish you to
answer before you have taken time
to counsel. We will, therefore, part
this evening, and when the Great
Spirit shall bring us together again,
let us speak and think like men with
but one heart and one tongue."

A new fire was kindled the next
day with more than usual ceremony,
and the chief said among other things :
"We have paid great attention to what
the Great Spirit has put into your
heart to say to us. We believe the
whole to be the truth, for the Long
Knife does not speak like any other
people we have ever heard. We now
see that we have been deceived; the
English have told us lies; and you
told us the truth, >ust as some of our
old men have always told us.

"We now believe that the Long
Knife is in the right. The English
have forts in our country, and if they
get strong enough, they want to serve
5ie red people as they have treated
the Long Knife. Therefore, the red
people ought to help the Long Knife,
and with cheerful hearts take up the
belt of peace and spurn the bdt of
war; and determine to hold fast, for
we do not doubt your friendship, from
the manner of your speaking, so dif-
ferent from the English.

"We will call in our warriors and
throw the tomahawk into the river
where it can never be found. We will
suffer no more bad birds to fly
through the land, disquieting women
and children. Our friends shall hear
of the good talk you have given us;
and we hope you will send chiefs
among them with your eyes to see
themselves that they are men, and
strictly stand by all tliat is said at this
great fire, whidi the Great Spirit has
kindled at Cahokia for the good of
all people who attend it." The pipe
was again kindled and smoked and the
council concluded by the shaking of

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS

319

hands of all the parties white and red.
In this same manner, with very little
variety, treaties were concluded with
a great many tribes. Colonel Oark
adhered resolutely to his determina-
tion not to cajole them. So well con-
solidated was his influence that a sin-
gle soldier could be sent in safety
among the Indians throughout any
part of the Wabash and Illinois coun-
try, to the heads of the waters dis-
charging into the lakes and into the
Mississippi.

As I was in close attendance upon
Colonel Clark during the whole time
that he was making these treaties, I
saw very little of Gordon. I knew
he was frequently absent from Cahok-
ia, and that he spent the most of his
time in St. Louis. The Commander
was aware of this and seemed not to
object to it.

Gordon was such a handsome, at-
tractive man, so noble and courteous
in his bearing, and so brave and gen-
erous in character, that there could
not have been selected among us one
who would be more calculated to
make a pleasing impression, and es-
tablish friendly relations with the
Spanish and French on the west side
of the Mississippi.

There was only one thing which
caused me anxiety. He was very
young; and I recalled how headstrong
and indiscreet I had been at the same
age (I was a few years older than
he) and I thought Gordon fully as
unwise as I had been. He was a man
of tremendous strength of nature;
and the feeling which had arisen in
his heart for Mademoiselle Adrienne
Soularde held complete possession of
him. If anything should conflict with
that I feared the result. I was, there-
fore, not much surprised when Pierre
Chenier came to me, one day, and
said:

"I must talk to you. Charlie Gor-
don is in trouble."

"I have been expecting to hear
that," was my reply. ''What is it?"

"He is slightly woimded;" said
Chenier, "and it is only by good luck
that he is not dead. You lutd better

go over to St. Louis with me this
evening and talk to him yourself.
Don't say anything to the Command-
er about it until we see further."

"We will start within an hour," I
promised, knowing that I could get
leave of absence to go immediately.

"Eh bien!" said Chenier, "I shall
wait for you."

On our way Chenier related to me
what had occurred.

"You know, of course," he said,
"Gordon's feeling about Adrienne;
and, I presume, it is not necessary to
tell you that the trouble is in connec-
tion with that. There is a young
Spaniard in St. Louis, Don Pedro de
Castillo, who has been devoted to Ad-
rienne for a year past. She has never
seemed to favor his suit, although
her father and family thought so well
of it that there was, at one time, talk
of a bethrothal. The young man is
handsome and attractive in the way
these Spaniards are, and of a very in-
fluential family. He has a cousin here,
Don Guadalupe de Calvo y Ramio,
who is most highly considered. For
my part, I look upon his connection
with Don Guadalupe as Pedro's best
recommendation.

"When Adrienne came back to St.
Louis and Gordon soon after followed
her, you may judge of the condition
which resulted between the two young
rivals. I knew there would be war
but hoped it might be carried on in
a reasonable way. Adrienne is so
wise and good, so little coquette, that
I trusted a great deal to her. The
right kind of a woman, you know, can
usually arrange these things."

"I agree with you," I said, inter-
rupting him, "and, especially, I agree
with you in saying that Mademoiselle
Adrienne is good and wise."

"Eh bien!" continued Chenier;
"very soon Gordon began to lose his
head entirely; and, I think, the devil
got into Pedro, for I suspect him of a
very black deed. It so happened
that one day we spoke together, Pe-
dro and I. I know no Spanish and he
knows no French. His English is
something remarkable ; and, although

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I can get along with English well
enough when I am good-humored,
when I am the least ang^ or excited,
I become as much tangled up as
Pedro does.

"He said, 'Senor, I haf sohm
throvl, sohm verree bad throvl I weesh
to espeak to you about. Thees Don
Carlos Gordon, — ^he eez amigo weeth
you — eez freen* weeth you — es vero,
nor

" 'Yes,' I said, 'it is true that Don
Carlos Gordon is my friend. But
I am sorry to hear that you have trou-
ble, Don Pedro, and I hope it can be
arranged.'

" 'Nunca, nunca, — ^nevaire can that
throvl be arrange. Don Carlos, he
lofe la senorita Adrienne, but I swear-
ar to you, Senor, eet eez not possee-
blee to heem to lofe her lak I lofe
her.'

" 'Eh bien ! Don Pedro,' I said, 'I am
not able to judge of that You should,
however, give Gordon an equal chance
with yourself to show how much he
loves the senorita.'

" 'Nevaire, no,' said Pedro, his eyes
flashing with anger at the suggestion
of Gordon's having any chance to
gain Adrienne. 'Tambien, I weesh
to marry with her. Madre de DiosI
eef he marry with her, caramba! I
weel keel heem ! I weel cut heem een
thee heart, by the madre de Dios, I
weel do thees I*

" 'Escus-ar me, Sefior,* he continued,
apparently trying to control himself,
'pardon-ar me, but I weel tell to you
what mak all la dificultad. Eet eez
Don Carlos — ^he mak lofe too much
to la senorita. Santa Maria ! I weesh
to tell to you, Senor, I keel heem be-
fore that he shall make so much lofe
to her !'

"Bon Dieu !" said Chenier, "he was
so beside himself that I saw I could
do nothing. So saying 'Adios' aloud
and 'al diablo* under my breath, I left
him in order to seek Gordon and see
what could be done with him."

"And did you find him amenable to
reason?" I inquired.

"Alas, no. He was even more un-
manageable than Pedro had been.

'The little brown devil,'" he said,
speaking with his teeth firmly set to-
gether and his voice hoarse with pas-
sion. 'To dare to talk of marr3ang
Adrienne ! I will put a bullet through
his heart !'

" 'Gordon,' I said, 'I know these
Spaniards, and you must be care-
ful—'

"'Careful!' he exclaimed, white
with anger and his voice trembling
with excitement. 'I know their dev-
iltry and their lies ; and I will silence
them. Yes, by Jove! I will silence
them as surely as I live!*

"I consigned him to the devil, along
with the other hot-head, and went in
search of Don Guadalupe. When I
had told him how furiously blood-
thirsty each one had become at the
thought of the other marrying Ad-
rienne, he cried whimsically: 'Ah, it
is this love that makes fools; let it
be a Spanish fool or an English fool,
it is always love. Enough ! Long live
love ! long live youth !'

"You see," continued Chenier, "he
did not see the importance of the mat-
ter just at first, but I urged it upon
him."

" 'It is not a question of two mere
madmen,' I told him, 'but of the
security of Qark and his followers.
Above all things, the American com-
mander wishes just now, to be on
friendly terms with the Spanish au-
thorities on the west side of the river,
for the British may come down upon
us from Canada at any moment, and
in that event we must be able to cross
the Mississippi into friendly territory.
It is out of all reason to risk such a
complication as may arise from the
rashness of these two young fools.
If Gordon kills Don Pedro, as I think
he will, your governor may be forced
to take such action as might be dis-
astrous to Colonel Qark's plans.'

"'Dios mio!' said Don Guadalupe,
looking very grave. 'I had not
thought of that. Toma! this love
affair is likely to become a matter to
be handled with diplomatic skill.'

" 'If,' I remarked, 'I had Gordon at
Cahokia, I would tell everything to

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CONQUERORS OF THE WILDERNESS

321

Clark, and he could make things safe
by keeping him under guard. But I
am sure that I cannot, for the pres-
ent, get him away from St Louis.
What can you do with Pedro?'

" 'Quien sabe?' was the Don's reply.
'I will see the governor at once. He
feels very kindly toward Qark, and
I believe in his heart he detests the
British. I am sure I do, and I hope
that Qark will rid us of them. I will
advise you, then, before long. Hasta
la vista, amigo mio.'

"Before nightfall he infonned me
that the governor had found a pre-
text for having Pedro placed under
guard and I at once sought Gordon.
Finding that he had gone to pass the
evening at M. Soularde's, and feeling
relieved of anxiety, I went to my own
apartment

"It was almost midnight when I
was awakened by a messenger who
brought the news that Gordon was
lying at M. Soularde's house danger-
ously woimded and would probably
die. Upon reaching him, however, I
found tile wound not so serious, and
Charlie able to tell me what had hap-
pened."

' "Thank heaven," I ejaculated,
"that he had you to turn to !"

"He said the assassin had been,
without doubt, in hiding, waiting for
him to come out of the house. As he
descended the steps he observed a
shadow, and it was in turning quickly
to look at it more carefully that he
probably saved his life. The knife
which was intended to pass through
his heart, only cut his arm and that
not very seriously. As he was struck,
he made a dash at the assailant, at
the same moment giving a loud call,
which brought M. Soularde quickly
to the spot. Finding that he had failed
in his attempt to strike a fatal blow,
the assassin had immediately fled.

"The .violence of the blow and the
loss of blood caused Gordon to lose
consciousness, and upon reaching
him, M. Soularde thought he was
dead; but as soon as an examination
was made, it was seen that the wound
was not very serious."

"Was he able to give any descrip-
tion of his assailant?" I asked.

"Why, strangely enough, he says
the assassin was an Indian. Do you
understand how that could be? If it
is a fact, it suggests a very black deed
to my mind."

We walked the rest of the way in
silence, pondering over the mystery.

"Ned," said Chariie, after I had
greeted him, "the man who tried to
kill me was an Indian. I am as sure
of it as I am that I live. And the
blow was certainly meant for me, for
as I passed out of the doorway the
moon shone full in my face, as bright
as daylight. He saw me as plainly as
I see you standing there. I noticed
the shadow and thought nothing of
it but, in an instant, that little sly,
Spanish devil, Pedro, came into my
mind, and this caused me to turn
quickly, else that knife would have
gone straight through my heart, as it
was intended. They thought I would
fall dead without even a groan. But
I will find that Indian if he is on this
continent, and make him tell the
truth, if it costs my life."

"'I don't know, Gordon," I said;
"what to make of its being an In-
dian—"

"Well, if you don't, I do," he ex-
claimed angrily; "I know Pedro was
under guard. Chenier has told me
about that; but some of his accursed
Spanish dollars gave me that cut — "

"For God's sake, Gordon, hush!
you are talking wildly," I cried, in-
terrupting him. "You will ruin us by
your imprudence. You know Pedro's
family are people of the highest im-
portance in New Orleans, and his
relatives here are immensely influen-
tial; and these Spaniards are full of
pride and revenge. We must, at all
hazards, steer clear of invoking their
anger. We have no idea what the
British are planning against us — ^they
may send a force from Canada at any
moment, and Colonel Qark considers
it of the utmost importance to keep on
friendly terms with these Spaniards."

My earnestness failed to affect' the
wounded youth.

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

"There is one of them would go
to purgatory too quick to make his
confession, if I could lay my hands
upon him," said he, threateningly. "I
know pretty well what he would have
to confess."

"Even if what you suspect should
be true," I answered, trying to turn
his thoughts into a lighter channel,
"admitting that you owe your pres-
ent position to him, why should you
feel any resentment? It seems to me
you ought to be grateful to any one
who had a hand in placing you under
the roof with Mademoiselle Adrienne,
and only badly enough wounded to be
interesting. Don Pedro would, be-
yond doubt, exchange places with you
willingly."

This suggestion acted like a charm
in restoring the young man's good
humor ; and he laughed heartily in pic-
turing Pedro's discomfiture when he
realized how things had turned out;
he under guard, not able to see Ad-
rienne; and Gordon domesticated in
her home, receiving from her kind
sympathy for the suffering and dan-
ger which he had risked, as it were,
upon her account

"By all the saints he worships!"
he cried out triumphantly, "I'll not
send him to purgatory, for I think he
is there already."

Upon returning to Cahokia I found
Qark occupied with a chief by the
name of Blackbird, who had been in
St. Louis when our invasion was first
made; but had sent the American

commander a letter apologizing for
his absence. Upon inquiry, Clark
found that he was a chief of great
importance, possessing influence over
considerable territory bordering on
Lake Michigan; and, consequently,
the commander departed from his
usual distant policy and invited the
chief to visit him, sending a special
messenger to convey this invitation.

Blackbird arrived with only eight
attendants ; and observing that prepa-
rations were being made for the usual
great council, he sagaciously sug-
gested that no time be lost in cere-
monials, as he had come on business.
He declared that he wanted much con-
versation with the American com-
mander, and would prefer sitting at
the same table with him to all the
formality that could be used.

Colonel Qark readily undertook to
satisfy him on every point; but, com-
pelled as he was to employ similes for
so many ideas foreign to barbarous
society, it took him nearly half a day
to answer the inquiries of the chief.
This was finally accomplished, how-
ever, to the satisfaction of this in-
telligent and powerful Indian, who
expressed himself convinced that the
Americans were entirely in the right.

"I am glad," said Blackbird, "that
our old friends,, the French, have
united their arms with yours ; and the
Indians ought to do the same."

"No," replied Colonel Clafk; "we
do not wish the Indians to fight for
us."

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d place
^our fac
less,
romplet
. t to frc

Would you rather not possess it
Casting reason into rhyme,
And unthinking for the time
That the rose by you untaken
Were a sweeter rose forsaken?

Yes, you would, but won't confess

It.

If some one should pass your vision —
Whorls of gold and filmy lace —
And should smile into your face —
Would your features frame a frowr
Or be gathered like a clown

In a smirk of calm derision?

*>=i.

Would you always be impelled
By such well-contained restraint
That no thought of maid or flowers
Would disturb your somber hours —
Neither penetrate your mood —
Then, I'd call you thing of wood

In a slavish coma held.

Joseph Hugh Reese.

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ANNE: MORE LEAVES FROM HER

DIARY

By Kate Trimble Sharber

Dec. 20 — "Yuletide in the South-
land" is what Professor Young calls
it, but from the sound you'd never
know how nice it really is. It means
that the Youngs have come down to
the bungajow to spend Christmas and
have brought his brother, Julius, to
spend it too. I admire Mr. Julius
Young, both his name and his ways.
He noticed me the minute he got off
the train and said I would have to be
his sweetheart. Although I have
learned, from being so deceived by
Dr. Gordon's remarks like that, you
mustn't depend on what they say, still
it makes you like a person when they
say it to you.

He is not a college professor like
his brother, but he writes poetry once
in awhile and makes his living draw-
ing pictures. Now the bad part about
making your living out of poetry and
art is that so often you don't do it.
This is the way with Julius. He
draws fully as good as other artists,
but he has never been able to get
people to notice it. Professor Young
says his work *'lacks the divine spark,"
and so the poor young man has to
heat his coffee over the gas jet like
they always do in pitiful magazine
stories. So much poetry and art have
made him real thin with strange flan-
nel shirts and he looks half like a
writing person and half like a hero
that was raised out West. He does-
n't act as peculiar as he looks though,
laughing as jolly as Mr. Parkes if
anything funny happens, and he
knows so much about horses, having
traveled considerable, that Pa thinks

he is very smart. Pa says you can ex-
cuse a poet with horse sense bettei
than you can just a plain poet.

Rufe and Cousin Eunice are down
here in the country too, partly at our
house and partly at Rufe's folks'.
This makes a nice reunion for them,
being as Rufe's sister, Marcella, is
home for the first time in three Christ-
mases, having been off studying how
to play on the piano.

Ever since during the chestnuts get-
ting ripe Marcella has been good
friends with me for she loves the out-
doors and there wasn't anybody but
me that had the time to spare to go
with her through the woods. She felt
sorry for me too, not getting to go
back to school in the city tfiis fall
and so she has taught me a lot. Ma
and Pa said they just couldn't spare
me, being the only one that lived and
born to Uiem in their old age. It looks
like if my brothers ai\d sisters had of
known how inconvenient it was for
me to be the only child they would
of tried a little harder to live.

Marcella is not pretty in a blonde-
headed way like Ann . Lisbeth and
Bertha, but her hair and eyes are as
dark as chocolate candy when you've
grated a whole half a cake in it and
her skin looks like cream does when
it's nearly ready to churn. She would-
n't go with me and Rufe and Cousin
Eunice to meet the Youngs at the
train being ashamed on Julius' ac-
count I reckon, both being single.
But we went and Professor and Mrs.
Young said they were too happy for
anything to be back in the country

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3^5

• {or a regfular old-fashioned Christ-
mas. They said they were going to
do everything just like it was in old
England, which Professor Young had
broQght a book to read about. They
said this book would "infuse a genu-
ine Yule spirit," but if they had of
scraped as many cake pans and seeded
as many raisins as I have they would
have more Christmas feeling in them
already than they could hold without
a dose of cordial.

Dec. 21 — ^This morning we collect-
ed on the other side of the creek to
go after holly and mistletoe to decor-
ate the bungalow with, me, the
Youngs and Rufe and Cousin Eu-
nice, Julius said a good many com-
pliments about the Nature you could
see all over the hills, but Rufe said
shucks! if he had plowed over that
Nature as often as he had it wouldn't
look so pretty.

Cousin Eunice said let's go straight
up through the woods and maybe we
would meet Marcella coming back
from a poor person's house which
she had been to carry sick folks'
things to. This plan must have been
made up between them for, sure
enough, when we got to the tip top
we found Marcella sitting under some
cedar trees resting and leaning back
against one just like it was a-purpose.
She had on her red jacket and little
red hat which set off her pale looks
considerable, and if she did do it for
the sake of Julius she knew the prop-
er way to get on the good side of an
artist for he started to acting im-
pressed right away. If a person is
trying to be romantic it is a better
plan to meet a man under a cedar
tree with a tired expression than it
is to sprain your ankle so they will
have to carry you home ia their arms
like they do in books. I don't know
why so many authors sprain their
characters' aiides and then let them
make love smelling of liniment.

Dec. 22— Ma says in olden times
young people married each other be-
cause the ladies was pretty or could
bake good cakes and the young men
was able to take care of them, but

nowadays they marry because they
"feel" the same way about things.
This is called congenial and an over-
ly congenial person is an "aflSnity."
Cousin Eunice and Rufe felt the same
way about Keats and married. Ann
Lisbeth and Dr. Gordon both loved
white hyacinths and married, and this
morning I heard Marcella and Julius
say that they felt the same way about
music. Marcella was playing on the
piano in our parlor and we was all lis-
tening when Julius remarked:

**Oh, isn't it rare to find a woman
who can properly interpret Beethov-
en?"

Pa was in the room and spoke up.
"Yes," he said, "and rarer still in
these days to find one who can prop-
erly interpret the bake-oven."

Marcella thinks the world and all
of Beethoven and Wagner and other
persons whose names are not spelt
the way you would think.

Later, when there wasn't anybody
present but just those two, I heard
Julius ask Marcella if she would "sit"
to him. I thought at first he must
be proposing for the folks around here
say that Widow Hollis is "setting
up to" anybody when she's trying to
marry. But Marcella said right away
she would be delighted which I knew
couldn't mean marrying, for when
the lady is getting proposed to she
never even lets on how glad she is,
much less says delighted right out in
plain words. He said her face was
the purest Greek he ever saw, which
didn't make her mad although it
would me for a Greek is a smiling,
oily-looking person which runs a can-
dy kitchen.

When he mentioned her face being
like a Greek's face she looked so
pleased that he went on to tell her he
had never been so impressed with
anybody's looks in his life as he was
with her that first day under the cedar
trees. He said oh, if he just had such
. a model he could do anything, for he
knew she had soul as well as beauty.
The idea of him telling her she had a
soul, as if anybody but foreign hea-
thens didn't have !

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THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

She said she thought it would be a
noble life to be model and inspiration
to a man of lofty ideals like Dan. T.
Gabriel Rosette-y's wife, only some-
times the woman was starved. It
looks like she would of been ashamed
to mention such a thing as not get-
ting enough to eat, but it seemed to
please Julius instead of making him
mad for he got over closer and said:
"No, not with me. I'm too himian for
that. I could no more sink the woman
in the model than I could sink the
man in the artist," which had less
sense to it than anything they had
before remarked.

Dec. 23 — Early this morning Mrs.
and Professor Young came over to
ask Pa where they could find a Yule
log and a peacock. They said in the
"eternal fitness of things" they must
have the log to burn all Christmas
night and the peacock to serve with
"brilliant plimiage" at the dinner ta-
ble. Mrs. Young went around to the
kitchen to ask Mammy Lou if she
knew how to prepare a peacock the
way they wanted it and brought to
the table in its feathers with the tail
spread. Mammy wasn't a speck more
polite than she was about the roosters
last summer and spoke her mind.

"No, ma'amr she told her, "Miss
Mary won't let so much as a pin
feather come on her table, much less
a whole critter covered with 'em.
Looks like that would turn a nigger's
stomach let alone white folks, though
there ain't no 'countin' for tiie taste
o' Yankees."

Mrs. Young tried to explain that
he was cooked without the feathers
which was put on afterwards and an
old English custom, but that would-
n't pacify Mammy.

"Well all I can say for the old
English is that they must have stom-
achs on 'em like buzzards," Mammy
told her.

The Yule log was easier and so
they got that, though it ain't to be lit
till to-morrow night with ceremony.

Julius and Marcella had a long
talk through the woods after sars-a-
parilla vines this afternoon about how

they would like to have a house furn-
ished if they was going to furnish
one. They never got as far as the
kitchen and smokehouse, but they both
agreed that they would love better
than an3rthing in the world to have a
dark g^een library with dull brass
jardinieres. (I had a terrible time
with that word.) Julius then spoke
up and said any kind of a library that
had her in it would be artistic enough
for him, which I thought was saying
a good deal for artists pretend they
can't live without their "atmosphere,"
meaning battered-up tea kettles and
dirty curtains from Persia, Marcella
must of thought he meant something
by it too, for she got as red in the
face as when you have a breaking out

Dec. 24 — I helped Ma and Mammy
considerable this morning by tasting
all the things to see if they was just
right, for we are going to have a big
dinner to-morrow and invite them all

To-night we all went over to the
bungalow to hear Professor Young
read about how they used to do
Christmas things in England before
the Pilgrim Fathers. It sounded aw-
ful nice about the "waits" singing,
"God rest you, merry gentlemen," on
the outside of your window and Ac
servants at dinner bringing in Ae
boar's head singing too. Professor
Young said he Aought these old cus-
toms ought to be revived especially
in the South where we had old-timcy
houses and family servants. Pa said
well, we maybe could get Mammy
Lou to bring in the turkey to-morr}'
to the tune of, "There wus a moanin'
lady, she lived in a moanin* land,"
which was the only song she knew
besides Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-
nego, one being about as Christmasy
as the other.

After awhile Mrs. Young started
up the chafing dish and called Julius
from over in the comer where he and
Marcella was talking very easy to
come and help her with the coffee.
She hadn't more than said coffee
when Professor Young picked up his
book again.

"Why, Marie, my love," he inter-

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ANNE: MORE LEAVES FROM HER DIARY

327

rupted her, "coflFee is not at all a
drink in keeping with the season.
To preserve the unities we ought to
have a wassail bowl." Then he read
us how easy it was to make up the
wassail. All you had to do was to take
wine and ale and sugar and nutmeg
mixed with ginger and spice and
toast and roasted crabs floating
around in it; then you must pour it
into a big silver bowl that has been in
your family a hundred years with the
coat-of-arms. A coat-of-arms is two
peculiar animals standing on their
hind legs pawing at each other.

Mrs. Young said she was as anx-
ious to preserve the unities as Au-
gustus, but how could they without
any wine or ale or toast or crabs, to
say nothing of the ginger and the sil-
ver bowl with the coat-of-arms
marked on it. Rufe said not to worry
for we might find it hard along
towards midnight and day to pre-
serve much pnity between such a
drink as wassail and the Welsh rab-
bit Mrs. Young was making anyhow,
so the wassail bowl was dropped.

Dec. 25 — ^All during my diary there
hasn't been anything as thrilling to
happen as what happened to-day to
Julius and Marcella. Getting your
arm broken and carried to the hos-
pital by your future husband ain't
anything to compare with this.

Everybody was happy at the dinner
table, me especially for beside all the
books I wanted I had got a pyrogra-
phy set and a pearl ring. I don't think
any girl is complete without a pearl
ring. The company all praised Mam-
my's cooking and Julius remarked that
after such a dinner as that it would be
pretty tough on a fellow to go back
to town the next day and live on cof-
fee heated over a gas jet and crackers.
We laughed considerable over the gas
jet, all but Marcella who didn't look
ftmny.

Just as we had got to the plimi pud-
ding burning and Julius had said he
wished he could paint a picture of it
Msey came into the dining-room with
* tel^^ram addressed to Mr. Julius
Young. This excited Mammy Lou,

who admired him very much, so she
nearly spilt all the sauce over him
saying, "Thar ! I just know it's some
of your folks dead!"

Julius laughed and told her he reck-
oned not, as all the folks he had on
earth was there at the table, and he
looked at Marcella when he said.it
in preference to his brother. Much to
all our disappointment Julius never
even opened the telegram and read it,
although we didn't say so. He put it
in his pocket and went on talking like
it wasn't any more to be proud of
than just a plain mail letter.

After dinner Pa took them all out
in the garden to look at some new hot
beds he was having made and Julius
and Marcella went into the parlor. I
stayed in the hall by the door, not be-
ing wanted in the parlor and not ad-
miring hot beds much. They didn't
sit down, but went over and stood
near the piano and all of a sudden
Marcella said nervous-like: "Why
don't you read your telegram? It
might be good news."

"It is good news, I feel sure," he
told her, "and I wanted you to be the
first one to know it — that's the reason
I didn't mention it at the table."

She said well to hurry up and tell
her, so he did. He said the day he
saw her leaning against the cedar
tree he thought she was so beautiful
that he went straight back to the bun-
galow and made a picture of her like
she was then and sent it to a large
magazine up North which had prom-
ised to give five thousand dollars to
the person that sent them the best
picture by Christmas, and he believed
the telegram was to say that his was
it. Marcella told him well, he had a
high opinion of his work to take it
for granted that it had won such a
prize.

"Not at all," he said catching her
hand in his, "for it was a picture of
you."

This sounded so loving I wasn't
prepared for what came next I
heard them tear open the envelope
and Marcella said, ''Good-nessr and
he said, "Well, 111 be— I wasn't look-

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328

THE TAYLOR-TROTWOOD MAGAZINE

ing for this!'' and it made me so in-
terested that before I knew it I was in
the parlor though so easy and it near-
ly dark that they didn't seem to see
me.

• As near as I could make out the
telegram told Julius that they thought
his picture was painted so good they
was not only going to give him the
first prize like they promised, but
wanted to hire him to draw for them
during the next year and how much
pay would he do it for.

"Why, you can have your green li-
brary and brass jardinieres now,"
Marcella said, still holding hands and
her voice like it was atout to cry.
He just looked at her and looked a
long time without saying a word. Fi-
nally he put both hands on her shoul-
der^ and looked down into her eyes.

"I can have nothing without you,"
he said in the most devoted voice
I ever heard. "It is your beauty that
has made my picture succeed. If I
amount to anything you will have to
come with me — will you?"

"You want me for your model?"
she asked very quivery and making
out like she didn't know what he was
driving at, although she put her hands
up on his shoulders too, which was
enough to give her away.

"True, I cannot paint without you
for my model," he said so g^and and
sweet that you felt very strange lis-
tening to it, and he kissed her on the
forehead and she let him, "but I can-
not live without you for my wife."

This won her — ^it was enough to
win anybody, coming from a poet-
artist and good-looking at that.

THE INDIAN QUESTION IN JACK-
SON'S TIME AND SINCE

By A. S. Colyar

THE collision between the Fed-
eral Government and the
states over the rights of the
Indians, when Jackson was president,
was examined by me with more than
ordinary care and labor when secur-
ing data for my "Life and Times of
Andrew Jackson."

Nothing in our history is more in-
teresting and nothing in the shifting
scenes of the early days less under-
stood, and out of nothing has come
more dissatisfaction at home and
prejudice abroad than our dealings, as
a nation, with the aborigines of our
country. M. de Toqueville, a popu-
lar French writer, has misrepresented
us in this respect, and his writings
have generally been received as true
history in Europe ; and in this country
readers of books who have been will-
ing to take French writers rather than
American history for what we are and
what we have done, have accepted it.

The conflicts between the state
courts and the Federal courts, the inr
tense feeling of the states on one side,
and the imperative duty of the Su-
preme Court of the United States on
the other, had put the political depart-
ment of the government where a small
man in General Jackson's place would
have been as helpless as the Empress
of China now is, as she sees the pow-
ers count and divide up her scant
revenue.

Only intelligent and laborious
searchers after tSie truth of history will
know through the coming ages what
Marshall on the bench, and Jackson
in the field and in the Cabinet, were
worth in putting the great republic on
its feet. ^

In one respect the Indian question
surpassed all others that came in our
early history. The conflicts between
the Federal and the state governments
were more int^se a^ w^l] as more

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THE INDIAN QUESTION IN JACKSON'S TIME

329

deeply seated; involving the great
questions of justice, sympathy, rights
of property, and the homes of the
brave, savage race ready and willing
to fight and die for the land in which
slept the bones of their ancestors.

Within the limits of the old states,
when the constitution was adopted, and
in the territories where the new states
were formed, were found many tribes
of Indians whose possessory right,
with well-defined boundaries, far ex-
ceeded any claim we had by occu-
pancy or discovery.

At first, when the white population
was small and thinly scattered, the
Indian possessions were scarcely con-
sidered but as the population in-
creased, a state within the state, made
up of an only partially civilized peo-
ple with their own government and
laws, and a provision in the constitu-
tion that no state shall be formed with-
in a state, the question, in a social as
well as in a political point of view,
came to be serious and threatening.

The question was further compli-
cated between the Federal goverin-
ment and the states, by the various
treaties entered into with the Indians
by the Federal government, which
treaties were set up and pleaded bv
the Indians in their litigation between
them and the states, but were wholly
disregarded by the states, notably
Georgia and Tennessee.

Both of these states, in disregard of
the treaties, passed laws for the gov-
ernment of these people, extending the
laws, severally, of the states, over
them, and with inhibitions on their
rights in a social as well as a legal
and political point of view, denying
them the right of property in their
lands unless they became citizens of
the state and acknowledged allegiance
to its laws.

Here are some of the provisions of
the Georgia statute :

"Be it enacted by the Senate and
House of Representatives of the State
of Georgia, in General Assembly met,
and it is hereby enacted by the authori-
ty of the same, that, after the ist day of
F^ruary, 1831, it shall not be lawful

for any person or persons, under color
or pretense of authority from said
Cherokee tribe, or as headmen, chiefs,
or warriors of said tribe, to cause or
procure by any means the assembling
of any council or other pretended legis-
lative body of the said Indians or oth-
ers living among them, for the pur-
pose of legislating (or for any other
purpose whatever). And persons of-
fending against the provisions of this
section shall be guilty of a high mis-
demeanor, and subject to indictment
therefor, and, on conviction, shall be
punished by confinement at, hard la-
bor in the penitentiary for the space of
four years.

"Section II. And be it further en-
acted by the authority aforesaid, that
after the time aforesaid, it shall not be
lawful for any person or persons, un-
der pretext of authority from the
Cherokee tribe, or as representatives,
chiefs, headmen or warriors of said
tribe, to meet or assemble as council,
assembly, convention, or in any other
capacity, for the purpose of making
laws, orders or regulations for said
tribe. And all persons offending
against the provisions of this section
shall be guilty of a high misdemeanor,
and subject to an indictment, and on'
conviction therefor, shall undereo an
imprisonment in the penitentiary for
the space of four years.

''Section III. And be it further en-
acted by the authority aforesaid, that
it shall not be lawful for any person
or persons,